


The Elder Scrolls: White-Gold (ACT ONE)

by ChimKardashian



Series: The Elder Scrolls: White-Gold [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls I: Arena, Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A Hidden Bae, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChimKardashian/pseuds/ChimKardashian
Summary: ACT ONEWHERE DRAGONS DWELLA Living God returns from the dead. An Emperor fights back his demons to protect his family. An unlikely group of friends must put a stop to a threat from the past, and one woman must chase her lover to the end of the world. A secret will be uncovered.An ongoing fan-fiction drawn heavily from TES Lore, set almost fifty years after the events of Skyrim, including both original and canonical characters.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is just a prologue, and being such, it is short and set in the future. 
> 
> Also thank you for taking the time to stop by! I hope you enjoy. I know parts of this might not feel lore friendly to some, but please bare with me. You will, in a few chapters time, see many canons enter. I will update the tags as it goes. But maybe you can already spot one! 
> 
> I will update this between college work, so there may be gaps, but hopefully it'll only get bigger and better as it goes along. Thanks for reading!

**SOON THE GRAND COUNCIL CHAMBERS**  
**CITY OF BLACKLIGHT, MORROWIND**  
**4E 250**

There is a universally well-known saying, that ‘what goes around, comes around’, and just like many words, it comes in different colours, with different meanings attached to each. In some circles, it’s a hopeful proverb, that to be good onto others will surely bring goodness in return - thus even in darkest hours, that one could hope their actions to be rewarded. In other places, it serves as a warning of karma, and a champion of fate’s justice, that eventually the bad people will reap what they sow. In one form it pushes for action, and in another for complacency, two extremes of the same coin.

But it certainly served enough of a purpose for some, namedly for Illsa Loryvn, who watched the ashes stir. As the fellow council representatives bickered between themselves, she savoured her breath. Trading routes, foreign policy, relations between houses, all distractions for now that would be erased by the future. She had foreseen it in her dreams, the return to glory, the promised freedom from the chains of submission, a cure to the plague that had born itself through the death of great men. From the grave of past betrayal there would sprout a return to greater times, and flower a waking dream. Today she was Illsa Lorvyn, one of the Redoran representatives of the New Council, but tomorrow? Who knew.

Verdon, the mediator, striked his gavel twice, bringing a hush to the domed room. The others would lower back to their seats as he stood and hobbled to the podium in the middle. He was an old mer, a veteran, but his injury was seen as a badge of honour. They say he had sustained his injury saving children from an orphanage during the Argonian Invasion. Since then he had retired from the war of weapons, to the war of words, and was renowned in political negotiation. He spoke loudly and clearly, yet his age showed through his tongue. “Speaker Illsa Lorvyn of Great House Redoran.”

Illsa rose with her hands behind her back, her dark dress flowing slowly but strictly behind her, each step she took would clunk across the marbled floor. Her black hair was tied up, as somber as her strut, and unlike most present, she did not wear her house’s emblem as a tabard, but only as little as a small pin. As she reached the center stage, she smiled and patted the man’s back softly, whereas he bowed and returned to his seat. Silence fell for a moment, before she cleared her throat softly yet loudly. Her accent was rich and brazen, yet her words were coated with eloquence.

“My fellow dunmer, sons and daughters of Vvardenfell - Azura protect it’s memory, I speak to you today as the day shall change everything - a day of reckoning, and I say what I say now with the hearts of our people behind me. Up to this point, everything this hall has stood for has spat in the face of our ancestors; they who died fighting for our cultural freedom!” Murmurs clouded the room, but failed to impact her posture, which was still raised and proud, and she would only raise her voice more, forcing it to echo upon the halls, over theirs and dulling out the sound of footsteps. “You expect us to allow ruin to the whole of Morrowind, to accept a worse fate than death and bow to our lessers! Now, we have had enough. The ludicrous liberalism of Imperial agents shall no more have place with our law making. Today, you wish to impose upon us once more the foolery that destroyed the land we were blessed with! Today, you vote to return to our dark age! Today, we say.. No more.”


	2. In Which It Begins

**NOW**

**THE FISHING VILLAGE OF ALDSTEAD,**

**EASTMARCH, SKYRIM**

**4E 238**

 

“Blessed Arkay, who watches over us, who guides us through life into the everlasting afterlife, may you shine your light upon our path, and keep us from harm, that we may reach our final destination when we are truly ready..” Opposite a small shrine to the god of eternal rest, knelt a woman aged by stress and circumstance, her hair dark and matted. In her hands she clutched closely a brass emblem of a bear, which she seemed to be permanently attached to. Although in a state of concentration, she appeared to be not quite there.“Guide us through war and fire and the bitter cold..”

 

Her daughter, Kari, sat in a loose and muddy white shirt on an unsteady stool next to a pitiful fire, fidgeting with her braided crimson tres. She watched the flames flicker and turn, trying to ignore her mother’s prayers. It seemed they were going down different paths since her father left - her mother was more religious than ever, and she couldn’t truly be more detached from it. In a way, she felt guilty, for of course the gods were sacred, of course Talos was an example of a true hero and of course, the god of the dead was now watching over her dad, but that didn’t save him, did it? It didn’t calm the waters that day. As Alsif’s speech slowed down, Kari jumped off the chair triumphantly throwing her brooding away. “I can go now?”

 

The older woman tilted her head as she turned to face her, as if having forgotten for a moment that she even had company, which was often the case. She frowned, puzzled slightly and a little upset of the interruption - but her child had never been one for patience, and she’d grown accustomed to it, instead making up for her impatience with her own. “No. You still haven’t told me where you’re going, and at this time of day no less!”

 

“I told you yesterday!” The sixteen year old grumbled back in a rather dramatic fashion, pulling back her shoulders and she began spacing out her words in a condescending fashion, angrily as if her mother couldn’t comprehend them. “Windhelm! I’m going to Windhelm.”

 

“Don’t take that tone with me little dragon! Is that how your father wanted you to show respect, by throwing your weight around?!” The woman raised her voice and went to get off her feet but paused, sinking back down, and sniffling lightly and turning back to face the small pin in her hand, grounding herself with it. A few seconds passed before she spoke once more, silently. “Ach, I’m sorry Kip, I just worry for you. You’re too much like him, bold, unafraid of anything. I don’t want to lose you to.”

 

“One day you might have to..” Kari mumbled under her breath softly, not loud enough for the other woman to make it out, but it was enough for her to hear it herself, to remind her that she couldn’t live forever under someone else’s wing. She went to wrap a small cloak over her shoulders as she spoke. “I’ll be back before night, I promise. It’s not long from here and I know enough to take care of myself. I’m not a little child anymore.”

 

“No, but you are my little child, and you always will be.” The slightest reassurance seemed to calm the woman a little, and she forced out a smile, facing her daughter once more. “Better be back before night, Skord’ll need your help at the docks tomorrow. And don’t you be flirting with any of those city boys! They’re all ruffians up there.”

 

At which they both laughed, before the girl picked up a small bag of coins, and kissed her mother goodbye.

 

* * *

 

As she opened her eyes once more, she awakened a cold soul in a warm room. How long had she been sleeping? Her head hurt and it felt like a struggle to pull herself up, as if fighting back a paralysing dream, an endless slumber. Everything remained a blur, but she managed to make out a woman hanging over a cauldron near a fire, and an old man sitting next to her.

 

“Ah, you’re awake.” The man spoke first, his accent oddly comforting. She blinked a few times more, trying to work out the composition of his face. Did she know him? No. His face was relatively young, but creased still, and he had two long black braids in an untamed mane of graying hair. He was a Nord, she knew that - but other than that she knew nothing. If she had strength, she would have pulled herself to defense. Yet as she tried to sit up a little, she groaned where what felt like a stabbing pain struck her stomach, and fell back down once more.

 

“Easy! Easy girl!” He spoke to her, almost as if she was an untamed beast as he helped lay her back down. She stopped contending against her own body, seeing the uselessness of it - every movement only made her breath rush further, even moving a finger felt like losing a little bit more. “You’ve been in quite the fight. Lucky I found you before you froze to death. Best you stay calm for now, let yourself heal. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Uhhm..” She struggled to make words with her mouth, and babbled slightly before managing to force them. Her mind wouldn’t stay in one place, instead chasing many lines of thought at the same time, and losing itself again before she could come to a conclusion. “Wheres.. Where am I?”

 

Her voice was different from most, a more polished tone, yet it still carried a hint of roughness. It was sleek yet thorned, light yet deep. She slipped her hand slowly across her golden skin, across familiar lines and symbols, till she reached where her pain was. It felt like a scar, but also a fresh open wound. It was covered, so she couldn’t be sure, wrapped tight in cloth. Just as, she saw, was the top of her left arm. But the most damage, she assumed, was on her chest, where she had experienced that deep pain.

 

“Blacktree farm, south of Windhelm, north of Riften. Funny place to be wandering, really. Not much to see out here, ‘cept the springs, of course, but they’ve never brought tourists before. Found you on my morning walk, I did. Dragged you back here over my shoulder before the wolves could get you.” The man smiled slightly. “In all my years out here, never come across a single stranger - but there you were, cold as a rock, in a scorched pile of mud. You can thank my wife here, Edna, for clearing you up.”

 

She looked up slightly, mustering the strength to make a grateful nod towards the woman, who was a bit younger than the man, no more than a year or two. That, or the harsh work had stressed and burdened him far more than her. The woman nodded back, seemingly content as she turned her attention back to her pot. “No problem at all, dearie. It’s nice to have company out here, maybe you’ll be able to stay for a bit while you recover, help us out a little. Of course our door’s open whether you’re working the fields or just needing rest.”

 

“Aye, don’t worry about that. Hospitality’s our way, besides, I doubt an elf can offer much strength, ‘specially when they’re reeling from some bear attack. What’s your name, love?” The man sat forward, attentively, probably making numerous bets in his head as to what the answer was.

 

“I..” The elven woman tried to reply for a second, but instead paused in thought. What was her name again? She stared blankly up at the ceiling, straining her eyes slightly as if hoping the answer was written in the heavens, but everything was empty, not even a letter came to mind.  “I don’t.. Know.”

 

“You don’t know? This just keeps getting stranger by the moment. You come out of nowhere, no clothes, no nothing, just a bunch of strange ink on you. You look like a mer, but not like one I’ve ever seen. Here’s to hoping old Kyne left something of you.” He paused, looking at her hair for a second, which was a dark and violent, almost bloody crimson. “How’s about for now we call you ‘Red’?”

 

“Red? You might as well call her Elf!” His wife laughed loudly, so much so that he jumped back. “I swear, you ain’t one for creativity Holgir, not since the day we wed.”

 

“Aye, there’s an idea, Elfie!” The man sounded almost excited, as if he was naming a new pet - the entire situation seemed to be a break from a bleary existence to him, a little fun in a mundane world. After all, it wasn’t every day such a thing presented itself, and in the wilderness, any company is good company.

 

From the bed the woman let loose a slight yet weak giggle. “Elfie.. I think that’s nice.”

 

“Enough talking for now, Holg. Go get the kids in now.” Edna went to the cupboard, getting out some cracked but still usable bowls, juggling them as she crossed one side of the small cabin to another, before placing them down and gesturing to their new friend to try and sit up. “Tell them dinners ready, and if they don’t come quick I’ll give it all to the new girl.”

 

* * *

 

“‘No more shall the Stormcloaks stand against the great Dragon!’ That was what my father -- your grandfather, shouted as he swung down the sword on Fildur, and with that swing the Empire was reunited, and Skyrim was brought once more into the righteous watch of the gods. I was there that day, serving as his commander - because our family has always been close. He was an honourable man, who fought the Thalmor influence back into the Aldmeri states, who helped unite the people once more under one banner,  so don’t believe for a second what those men told you, okay?

 

He was a good man, a warrior, people say Akatosh himself speaks through him. And the elves don’t like that, you see? The Elves don’t like the gods, because the gods aren’t like them and the gods don’t like them. So they make their own ‘divines’ in pale shadows of the true ones, and spread these stories that he was a bad man, that he was a drunkard and lazy. Because they can’t accept the war is over. They will never accept that we won. But he was a good man. And you are a good girl, and you will grow up to be a good queen, just like your mother.”

 

The man smiled and stroked the young girl’s cheek softly, but inside he was nothing more than a bag of nerves. He had been doing his best to keep her safe, but if rumours were starting to reach her, how long before assassins? Emperors, royal families, never had anyone reigned forever -  how long until his downfall? He was scraping tooth and nail to still be there as it was.  He had gone through every single member of his court, weeded out any with Aldmeri sympathies, but still the holes gaped through. His wife didn’t look at him the same, and now his child was looking at him with a similar reluctance.

 

“But Buddy said that mother doesn’t really have any power, that she’s just pretending and.. and that you’re this thing called a suck-old.. “ The young girl paused, her soft blue eyes looking up. She couldn’t remember the exact words, or all of them, because the list of accusations went on and on. But there was a difference in people’s voices, she thought, in when they lied and when they told the truth, and her friend spoke with such conviction, as if not holding malice, but stating facts.

 

“What? No, no, I’m not a.. That’s not a word a young girl should use - or hear for that matter. This ‘Buddy’ of yours is a liar, who you shouldn’t trust. Is he a boy from the kitchens? I’ll have him dealt with. And.. and your mother is a very powerful woman, just like you will be one day. We wouldn’t be in this great, wonderous tower, if the gods had not chosen us. When I was your age, I used to wait in the gardens while my father would be in the council, and you know what I saw? In the clouds, I saw you, myself, my father, and your mother, I saw us make the world a better place. And I believe the divines themselves wanted me to see that. To see what was going to be ours by right.”

 

“Buddy isn’t a liar! He’s my friend.” She pulled the covers up to her face, frowning. “He’s not an elf, why would he say these things if they aren’t true?”

 

Marcallus would sigh, biting his lip slightly. He was young for an emperor, yet the stress was already making his hair grey. He could barely sleep even when his family were calm, but he had a feeling it was going to be a long night. She was only nine, and was hardly to be expected to understand the nature of politics, the history and intracities. He would like to tell her everything, the sacrifices their family had made for the good of the empire, the never ending sacrifices. He had longed to tell his father, on his deathbed, what had really happened. But he was scared of consequence, and none would never understand, instead it remained a burden. And what a burden the truth could be.

 

“Listen, Sophia. The whole world, everyone but you and I and your mother, we can’t trust them. They might as well all be our enemies. Rulers can’t trust anyone but their hearts, because your heart tells you what’s true.” He’d prod her chest lightly, playfully. “Does your heart say your mother is weak? Does your heart say your grandfather was a bad man? Do you think he called the bad people to take away Mede?”  
  
She looked down, to where her heart lied, and then looked back up, and smiled slightly, reassuringly. “No, I don’t.”

 

He’d smile back softly, getting up and tucking her in. “Good. Sleep tight now.”

 

Silently the Emperor left, before meeting one of his guards outside, his expression solemn, still pondering his words. What kind of parent tells their child to be a nervous wreck? What kind of parent would lie to their children so blatantly in the first place? He was doing it for the best. He was always doing things for the best. Every action he took, no matter how questionable, was for the good of the Empire - after all, that was the job of an Emperor, so his father had said. A bad Emperor worries about himself and lets others down doing so, a good and wise ruler makes the decisions no one else is capable of, that no one else could shoulder. But it sounded convenient, thinking back to it. He nodded at the guard, who stood to attention, waiting for orders, and promptly receiving them.

 

“Find a child going by the nickname of ‘Buddy’, I don’t care if it’s a common name. Execute every last one.”

 

* * *

 

The wind howled in the distance as Kari struggled to make out the beaten-path forward, the snow and ice scattering over whatever remained of it. She didn’t frequent Windhelm often, it was still quite the walk, but the promise of some work, even just an hours worth, paid. It meant another day surviving, and that was all life was for now. Since her father had passed, she was the one earning the bread, her mother was too ill to even leave the little they had.

 

She kicked around with the snow softly as it continued to blaze through her path, the blizzard growing slightly stronger as time went on. The sky was beautiful, though, through the dark, shards of light fluttered through, as if thrown straight from Aetherius. The current growled at her steps, knocking her back every now and then, pulling her hood down every time she’d put it back up. Eventually, she decided to just let it flap around and push forward.

 

Crunching of snow was muffled by the gale that swept through, but the lack of vegetation didn’t seem to deter it. She guessed that maybe she could hear the snow being churned over the peaks, but it had grown ferocious, like the roaring of a lion, hollowing itself through the peaks of the mountains. They would say that up there once were great tombs, temples to creatures long gone by, to dragons. She hadn’t ever really ventured though, and she figured most of it was myth, told to little children - which she was not anymore. And only little children believed what they hadn’t seen with their own eyes.

 

Ice crackled and the drifts seemed to settle, yet the sky grew darker. She stumbled a little more, the wind battering on her now, and she thought maybe if she jumped, she would fly away, end up on the other side of the world. The seething coldness rattled through her, to the bones of the earth, but she kept going forward - at least, she hoped it wasn’t backwards. The snow settled so deep that landmarks dissipated and dissolved into small specks, making everything look the same.

 

What felt like a whisper scattered through the end, like a long exhale, and the skies seemed to hold still for a second. And then, without warning, they plummeted down.

 

* * *

 

“They say the land’s been like this ever since the damn red year, but if you ask me, my ancestors were as dumb as a bunch of trolls. There’s no storm in oblivion that could linger so long.” Holgir sighed as the dry dirt crumbled through his fingers. “We’ve had everyone, priests, alchemists, even mages from the damn college. Nothing works. We’re lucky if we even get half of what we give. And it’s back-breaking work, too - some of it’s hard as rock. You sure you’re ready for this, Elfie?”

 

The red-haired woman knelt down, in a ill-fitting dress, which came just below her knees, and sat awkwardly on her shoulders, but she didn’t complain. She reached out softly, feeling one of the sprouting plants in front of her, its leaves shrivelled and stalk drooping. It felt less like something you’d eat, instead like a fragile parchment. She looked back up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I think.. It’s in pain.”

 

“You think the plant is in pain?” The nord paused and blinked twice, laughing before shaking his head. “Aye, you’re either one of those silly-plant elves or that bear must have sent you mad. Plants don’t feel things.”

 

“No.” She shook her head softly. “The ground, beneath us.. Can’t you hear it?”

 

She paused, puzzled, and he placed his hand to his head, muttering something crude under his breath. Elfie turned her attention back to the ground, which was humming, almost screeching, silently but undeniably. She slowly moved her hand closer, apprehensively, closing her eyes. As her hand came closer, the sound changed, softened slightly, and her fear started to disappear and dissipate among many whispers she couldn’t quite understand.

 

As her palm landed, she began to glow, first inside, feeling as if all weight had left her, and the shimmer began to spread from her heart, all through her form, to the tips of her fingers. Her mind seemed to wander for a while, to places she’d never been, to places she’d never seen, but they felt familiar. She heard voices echo, soothing her, and she smiled, warmth seemingly flowing out of her and back into the world around her.

 

“Well, I’ll be a’son of..” The man struggled for words, and Elfie blinked her golden eyes once, twice, adjusting them once more to the world around her. The ground was silent, and all she had seen was gone as fast as it had came, as if a lone gust of wind had pushed her from one realm, to another. She looked at the ground, no longer an arid strip, but damp despite the fact no rain had fallen during their time there. Where once was crisp wires, now was a lush, vibrant field of green buds. “It’s as if Kyne herself spoke through your hands..”

 

“I.. This is..” She stumbled at her words slightly, in her own disbelief, staring at the lines in her hands. Was this her doing? She wasn’t even thinking. But something felt.. Different. As if a spark in her had flickered. She lifted herself up, still fixated on the ground around her.

 

She gasped as the man suddenly latched on to her, and almost went to strike him in defence, but flinched  realising he was not in fact attacking her, but hugging her closely. “I don’t know who sent you, and I don’t care, you’re a real blessing!”

 

She hugged him back for a second, and he kissed her cheek, seemingly overjoyed. A bit too much, as she squirmed slightly, and the man realising he was being too tight, let her go. She slipped away slightly, letting out a soft groan - drunk and weary from the visions, and he caught her quickly, frowning slightly.

 

“Best we get you inside, love.”

 

* * *

 

 “Something’s worrying you. Ever since your father died that’s all there’s been to it - worry, worry, worry. Why did you have to take this position? It’s changed you. Now you spend all your time pacing the halls.. You know you’re not supposed to guard the place, right? That’s what the guards are for, hence the name.” Lyra had spent many years in Cyrodiil, but her voice was still heavy and strong with mountain spirit. She was tall, but soft, only clearly showing her nordic heritage when she spoke.

 

Marcallus had not fallen in love with her immediately - in fact, at the beginning they destested each other, only marrying to try and soothe the ties between Skyrim and the rest of the Empire. But in the many years, he’d learnt to trust her guidance, and eventually, as she was giving birth, he’d realised there was no one he’d rather have by his side. Most people thought of him as the fighter in the tower, but they couldn’t be more wrong, for few survived to tell tales of her warcry.

 

But it had been many years since she gave birth, even more since she’d been in a fight, and they both hoped one would not brew today. “Come, sit, before you weigh the floors down with your royal burdens.”

 

They both chuckled lightly, as he chucked aside his cloak, then his top, stripping down to his briefs. He then sat at the end of the bed, as she lay resting her head on her palm. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s these damn rumours. I’ve tried everything, Lye, but now they’re even reaching Sophia and.. Her friends.”

 

“She’ll find new friends. She’ll make them or we’ll buy them, it’s not like every little kid in this tower has had a sincere childhood.” She waved her spare hand in the air, brushing the matter off. “Why are you so afraid? They’re just rumours after all. Well, unless we’re talking of your father. In that case, it’s true. But no one else needs to know. You’re Emporer now, for Orkey’s sake. Tell a man to write that he was some sort of dragonslayer and in a years time, no one will care to remember the difference.”

 

“It’s not that simple, and you know it.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, raising his voice. “She thinks he was involved with Motierre, with the Dark Brotherhood.”

 

“Wasn’t he? I remember hearing how close your family was with them. Some say even you arranged it. That at the age of 19, you conspired to remove the Emperor so that your father could take the throne for himself.” She smiled once more, finding it rather funny. She sat up slightly, tracing her hand down his back “They even say we worship daedra. Do we worship daedra, Marc? Do you?”

 

He sighed, waving her away. “No.. That’s ridiculous. Who told you that?”

 

“Why, everyone in court is talking about it. No one’s made their mind up which one, mind you. Most assume you’re just getting fucked on the side by some consort of Sanguine, but I doubt you could get even the dirtiest of revelers to bed you.” She laughed once more, laying down again, and turning to face the other wall. “No, I think if you were to follow a daedra, it’d have to offer you the whole world on a platter, and you’ve only got half of it. Forget about these things, dear. Get some rest before you start going crazy, gods know you’re bad enough without being a member of some inane cult.”

 

* * *

 

“Afh. Who’s idea was it to bring an orc to a desert? The heat, the stupid scorpions, and don’t get me started on the sand on my tusks.” The rough woman spoke with a hard, gritted tone, spitting on the sand as she finished her sentence. “Don’t you even start at me, either, you don’t know how it feels. It feels coarser than a damn argonian’s dry, crusty scales after he’s been baking in the sun for several days.”

 

“Oh shush.” Her companion, a stick-thin redguard woman ducked back under their canvas tents as the dust blew on, sniggering and brushing sand out of her short fluffy hair. “You didn’t see me complaining when I was in your stronghold, even though it stunk of burly orc men who’d never taken a bath. I mean, you might still stink, but at least you try.”

 

“Pah!” Glahrza snickered loudly, playfully bashing the redguard’s shoulder. “I’ll give you that, they did stink, wherever you go, whoever you meet, khajiit or poncey breton, if it’s a man, he stinks to me. Guess I just got a good nose.”

 

“It’s cute, but your hair could use a little work. I had this great friend back in Sentinel, showed me a few tricks. You’d be amazed what a little bit of aloe and basil can do. Smells great, too. And it’d make your skin really soft.” Ayda chuckled, her voice snarky and blunt as she brushed her fingers over her friend’s cheek, before tugging as if she was  a baby.

 

“I bet that isn’t the only thing she showed you.” They laughed, the orc loudly and the redguard pouted.

 

“Grow up already, you’re more sleazy than a jackal in heat.”

 

“Remind me why we’re here again, is it to talk about your exes or to actually do something interesting?” Glahrza kicked back onto the furs, throwing her shirt to the side, sweating in the heat. She picked up a water skin and carelessly swilled half the bottle down, before pouring the rest over her.

 

“Are you really that forgetful, or do you just like to zone out whenever I speak?” The other woman took off her headband and joined her, laying on her side to stare at her. “We’re on the Isle of N’Gasta. Now, as the name suggests, there used to be a nasty little sload called N’Gasta, who was so good at necromancy people say he made grass grow here. Not many people really made it back from here alive, so who knows if that’s a fact.”

 

“It would make sense.” Her friend interrupted her, turning to her side to face her back. “I haven’t seen any slugs around here. Not back on Stros M’kai, certainly not here. Can’t blame them, really, hell if I could get away from Hammerfell I--”  
  
“Yeah, that’s not the point. Point is, he was a pretty big deal, had a lot of artifacts and prizes, just any other good necromancer, and he was old, too, because that’s the sload for you. He was so good at what he did that they say even the King of Worms had the hots for him - in fact, they say the isle was given as a gift to him. Anyway, everyone dies eventually, even stinky sload necromancers. Some brave soul killed him one day, and no one’s dared stepped foot here until now.”

 

“Until now.”

 

“So there’s probably a bunch of loot for the taking up in that tower over there, and no one’s thought to take it. So, waste not want not. We sleep through this storm, then we take a gander in there. There’ll be a few skeletons in that closet, sure, but nothing we can’t handle.” She winked at the other girl, who licked her tusks and grinned back at her. Then, she turned to snuff out the candle and to warm herself against her friend’s body.

 

* * *

 

 She woke in silence, cold silence, as if prematurely buried. Frost sealed over her eyes, biting at her lashes as she struggled in and out of consciousness. She woke to feel her lungs collapse in on themselves, and in panic she fought, kicking and pushing herself out of the snow, like labouring against a brick wall. She gasped as she rose out of the fields of hard, settled ice, pulling up. If it had been any deeper, she wondered as she caught her breath, herself being a shivering pile.

 

If it had been any deeper, she’d be dead, a pile of bones to be found by any starving wolf in the wilderness. If it wasn’t for the gods, she would have drowned in the tundra, freezing and alone. It was close, too close, and full of what-if’s. She wouldn’t have been found by anyone, or leave any sort of mark on the world. She’d just be a poor child who was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It struck Kari that she didn’t want that. No one wants to die, but to die without having ever done anything? The thought verged her on tears.

 

But as she came further to, she felt a rush of adrenaline spike through her, electrifying her limbs.  She jumped to her feet in a flash, so fast she almost tripped, then stared up at the sky, which was now entirely clear, a soft grey-ish hue of blue, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. If she wasn’t still reeling from the cold, she would have questioned whether it had really happened and not been a day-dream from a messed up imagination.

 

She slowly realised the sounds of birds chirping around her, the drifting of branches, the sounds of nature. The soft blowing of the wind behind her, the world opening up after being closed for a matter of time. The bramble poking through the sea of white feathers, dark and adorned with vibrant red snowberries. In a short distance, a small fox trotted through the snow, and paused, as if watching her, large ears cocked up attentively. Then it turned again, panting as it went on its way.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she caught something glisten, and decided to head towards it. Whatever it was, it was entrenched in the snow, more buried than she had been. But it hadn’t been there before - or at least, she hadn’t been able to make anything out, so she supposed that the avalanche had simply brought it up to the surface. She dusted off the top of it, figuring it was a chest of some sort, perhaps stolen goods left by bandits, things surely missed by another.

 

But as managed to push more of the snow aside, she formed a different opinion. The gold seal had been the first thing to catch her eyes, and it turned that the rest of the box was made of a stone, something like granite. It had been chiseled and carved at, crudely yet seemingly elegant at the same time. There were various sketchings along it, strange marks which she could only assume meant something, but quite what she wasn’t sure. They were consistent in height and character, so they had to mean something. Swirls and vines familiar from rich tapestries lined it, with ribbons of more gold. It was heavy, far too heavy for a girl to pick up, for anyone to pick up she imagined - it was as if it wasn’t meant to be moved.

 

Still, she remained curious of its contents. Perhaps it was some long lost relic, or perhaps it was empty, there was only one way to be sure. She moved her hands to the seal, confused as to why there was not a lock. Surely if it was something important, it would be locked? The seal was marked, too, delicately, a ring around what looked like a dragon, a skeletal one, entrenched in flames. Around the ring there were more symbols, and it struck her that maybe there wasn’t a physical lock, but a magical one, perhaps even a trap.

 

Still, there was only one way to find out.

 

She heaved the lid of the chest open, mustering all her strength to do so, and it appeared to click as she did - she flinched at this, worried a ball of fire would bolt at her face, but to her surprised (and luck) nothing of the sort happened. Instead, she fell back as the weight of it seemed to disappear, like it had opened itself, and her momentum seemed to jinx itself. As she got back up to her feet, she was confused. The chest didn’t seem any lighter. It didn’t look any different, only now it was open.

 

As she moved back over to it, her eyes widened. She was expecting perhaps some old plates or, at most, a fancy goblet, but instead it felt like since that near death experience, she’d fallen into one of her father’s old tales, with heroes and dragons and adventures. Sticking out of the box was a large shield, dusty and scaled, ribbed out of what she imagined was bone - she hoped at least, that it was mammoth bone. As she picked it up, it felt lighter than she’d pictured, and she inspected it further. It was shaped like a kite, with three large points at the top, where the frame seemed to join and extend to the middle of shield, which bent outwards and circled a small gem, again lined with strange symbols. From the back, there hanged a fabric almost like a net, frayed and full of holes.

 

Next to it, was a long blade, sharp and almost transparent. The light refracted through it, like a diamond, and the hilt appeared to have a dragon head at either side, with red gemstones for their eyes, which she imagined could be as piercing as the blade itself. She hadn’t seen many weapons in her life that were anything more than metal with a pommel of cloth, even in Windhelm the blades didn’t appear so delicate. It was as if made from a different type of metal, that metal being not even a metal. It surely had to be ceremonial, lest it would break.

 

To her further surprise, the chest was deeper than appeared, and under the sword and shield was a set of armour, made similarly out of bone and opal-like metal, with netted drapes and chainmail, and a dark leather gambeson. She shook her head. She was sure she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead, and the gods had been nice enough to write her a story, one last adventure. It was surreal.

 

But it felt so real. And it couldn’t hurt to try things on for size.


	3. Sketching Love-hearts out of Blood

 

Thousands of years ago, they say that dragons ruled over men; that Skyrim was their land and great temples were erected in their name. They say that man worshipped the dragons, and  that their priests would run small matters over their absence. In the land of Solstheim, a province in Skyrim, three priests awaited their orders, in a time long lost.

 

The youngest of these priests was named Qethin, a promising yet arrogant upstart given control over the north-east of Eastmarch. He fancied himself a powerful mage, but it was no secret that his spells lacked the same refinement as his ego.  

 

A few years older than him, and perhaps even more so promising, was the priest named Miraak, for whom Qethin felt great contempt, even jealousy for. Miraak was supposedly the most talented of them all, and the Dov showed a great fondness of him, as if he was almost on-par with their masters. They kept close eyes on him, and despite the other’s numerous attempts to please, he always appeared to outshine him. Miraak was given control of most of Lower and Central Solstheim, which was the north most point of Skyrim. 

 

The third, and final priest present was Vahlok, who was ward of upper Solstheim, and guide of the Skaal clan. She was most notably the only female dragon priest, and had managed to ascend the ranks of man through pure determination. She took her duties as foremost one of protection, negotiating between the beasts which were dragons and the lower people.

 

All three had gathered that day, as they had every other year, at the burial complex of Saering’s Watch.  Most years only trivial matters would be discussed, with perhaps orders passed down through the ranks of dragons, but all considered, it was never seemingly of much importance. Solstheim was a brutally cold outpost, with little to offer and little risk of invasion. 

 

The snow drifted down peacefully as they awaited the messenger, around a small bonfire. Even without the layers of customary robes, the bitterness didn’t affect them - they were all nords, and used to the harshest of weathers - yet by their standards, it was peaceful. The woman held her hand over her forehead and looked up to the horizon, each flake seemingly dancing on the soft breeze, but no sign of dragons.

 

“Is this some sort of joke?” Qethin complained in a loud and obnoxious fashion per usual, the flames licking near his hands. “What news could be so important that it would come so late?” 

 

“Calm, zeymah. We haven’t been waiting that long.” The woman spoke gently, her frown concealed behind her mask. “Perhaps they only wish to test our patience. Or the skies are less gentle than it looks.”

 

“Yes, I doubt the dragons have a sense of humour.” Miraak spoke, pacing in thought. 

 

The distant skies suddenly rumbled, darkening slightly, and the flaps of large wings echoed in the nigh-empty landscape. A dragon, old, large and grey swooped down to the meeting-ground, its scales rusted and cracked, and its voice deep, oddly foreboding. “Be glad that you see me, and not another. They are purging the ranks once more.” 

 

It landed, as if it had been a long journey, and failed to explain much. The priests knew very well that purges happened - the world-eater and his allies were as temperamental as weather, all dov were - but it was always small affairs, little that truly upset the order, so why the dragon seemed so pent up about it was confusing to say the least. 

 

“What is it this time? More petty thievery?” The youngest looked around impatiently, but not truly stirred. He was not known for thinking of anyone or anything other than himself. 

 

“Nid..” The dragon shook its head, almost sympathetically, which placed them on edge, for sympathy was not truly of nature to dragons. “They say it was blasphemy. A small man preaches for daedra, his entire town is burnt to the ground.” 

 

It was, of course, an odd situation. Most of the purges had been to keep the peace, yet this seemed directly against it, to which even the old dragon appeared nervous. Daedra worship had never been banned or outlawed either, for it had never been a problem. Small covens and fanatics were little trouble - a burnt down village was more.

 

“Just for worshipping a daedra?” Vahlok questioned, seemingly the most concerned out of all of them. “Why? What good does it do to take innocents over one man’s actions?” 

 

“It was not any daedra, fahdon, but Boethia. They fear his words, though one such as I see no reason why.” 

 

“It’s probably nothing.” The young one spoke once more, with confidence. “A reminder of our power, no more, no less. Good riddance.” 

 

“Don’t speak too soon. One death always leads to another, when the flames are fanned and not put out.” Miraak spoke with disdain, before turning up to watch the sun settle in the red skies.

 

* * *

 

When they awakened, the skies had calmed, and replacing the battering of sand against the hut was an eerie silence. Ayda hopped up, quickly pulling her clothes on as she went to look into the distance. The tower was close, tall, dark. She could see better now, the ruins of stones underneath the sand, battered by the force of time. She moved her hand above her brow, blotting out part of the burning sunset. 

 

She’d heard things about that tower, many things. It was time to sort the fact from fiction.

 

Glahrza shuffled behind her, putting on a light leather top and some ragged leggings. Although she liked to get close and personal, her belly and head were often uncovered, which struck Ayda as odd, but the orc insisted that only weak members of her kind worried about protection, and that scars were badges of honour. Still, she’d grown to worry about her, but knew her to be as stubborn as.. Well, an orc.

 

Ayda herself wore a light mail, more suiting for a battlemage in her opinion, and it didn’t take too long to put on, either. That, and it looked good. She’d grown up in a nice place, and learnt that presentation was everything. A lifelong game to keep up with, maybe one day to be free of. 

 

“You look lost.” The orc grunted behind her, smirking. “You sure we can’t lie in a little longer, take the day off?”

 

The redguard went for her satchel, swinging it over her shoulder. “You’re not backing out now, right? And you call me cowardly. Will it help if I hold your hand?” 

 

“Whatever gets you to shut up, for Malouch’s sake.” She ignored the other’s wit and gently took her hand as she offered it. 

 

The tower was only a short distance, but as they approached the dust stirred and rumbled, bones of old beginning to lift out of the ground, only to be met with a thin, but sharp blade. Glahrza kicked aside the old skull, shrugging at the ease of it. “Guess he’s getting a little rusty.” 

 

“Do you keep a list of bad jokes just for the occasion?” Ayda laughed, pushing at the door. “Stuck. Guess we’re going to have to go home, or..” 

 

She winked, and the other woman rolled her eyes as she concentrated, her magic softly dancing between the inner workings of the lock, agitating the pins as the keyhole began to vibrate, finally making a clicking sound and she put her hand back against it, now opening the door. “Back in Sentinel, they’d call me no-hands, because I could do it with my hands tied behind my back.”

 

“Hah! Show off.” Her companion pushed the door past her, turning to a whisper as they proceeded, drawing her other sheathed blade.“Bet that magic came in handy elsewhere, too.”

 

“Maybe I’ll let you find out - later, that is.” The Redguard conjured a small ball of light between her hands, before blowing it into the air, where it seemed to hang and orbit around them. Various corners of the rooms revealed themselves, the light catching the dust and cobwebs, and in the corner of her eye, the orc caught a small movement.

 

“Ugh!” She moved forward, twirling in the air as her swords sliced through two zombies; slipping one in half and cutting the right leg off another, which, despite the fact it was already headless at their arrival, seemed persistent until she punctured it with both of her swords, pus squirting out of it. “And I thought I was ugly.” 

 

“Watch out, you bonehead!” As the orc went to wipe her face clean, another skeleton went to swing at her with an axe, only to be interrupted by a burst of flames, that to the battlemage’s astonishment, it still seemed to feel, as it frantically tried to pat itself down before collapsing into a pile of charred bones. She could swear she heard it scream, just like the living, maybe even more piercingly. Her friend had jumped back, falling down, turning around to stare at it. 

 

“..I owe you one.” Glahrza seemed a little confused, aloof, but her head was still on, so it was nothing more than that. After a second or two of silence, she laughed, getting up to her feet and brushing off the dirt, walking forward once more and sheathing her weapons. “I’ll pay you back - later, that is.” 

 

* * *

 

The shock of the hit, the pure power of it, sent Kari staggering backwards, as she peeked behind the shield. It hadn’t been long since she’d discovered her find, and already it seemed she had taken it too far. Excitement had gotten the best of her, as she played around in the snow, thrusting her sword around as if she was slaying great monsters, and it had been fun while it lasted, but as the bear roared loudly, towering over her, that fun was no longer there. 

 

“I-- I don’t want to hurt you!” The nord girl almost whimpered under her breath, gritting her teeth and trying to look as strong, tall and as scary as she could, while attempting to negotiate with the bear. Followers of Kyne said that animals were reasonable, and she’d always believed it - if you didn’t antagonise them, they wouldn’t pose a threat to you. But as the bear batted at her once more, hitting her shield again, she began to question that philosophy. “Please! I just want to go home, like you! I don’t want to fight!” 

 

The bear, it seemed, did want to fight, and began to charge at her. She huddled behind her shield, pulling it even closer to her, her other hand on the sword, which itself seemed to beckon, glimmering in the light. In a split second, she thought about it, what it would be like - the bear looked like a mother, no doubt trying to protect its children. She thought about the cubs, alone in the cold, waiting for their mother to come home, mewling as time went by, starving and shivering. 

 

But before she even noticed, her blade swept through the beast’s belly, showering her in red as the body fell back with a thump. She gasped, eyes wide, struggling for breath before gathering the courage to look over the bear, to see if it was truly dead.

She stood over and moved her hand through the creature’s thick coat, which didn’t move or tremble. The cut seemed cleaner than it had felt, cleaner and deeper. She shaked in disbelief; she hadn’t meant to hurt it - it’d left her with no choice. At least it died quickly. It must have hurt but, not that much, surely? She felt guilty, even if it was her only option.

 

She clutched the red-stained blade, looking through it almost, before sheathing it away. The rush of adrenaline was gone now, and so was the silly fear. Instead, she felt tired, her body buckling to the weight of the armor. She didn’t want to go home though - not now, not anymore, not when she felt it in her - an adventure was just about to begin, had begun, and she was part of it. Home would be giving up on that, home would be a boring but safe ending.

 

Maybe there’d be an inn close by, or a friendly cabin, somewhere to rest for just an hour or so, after all, heroes needed no more rest than an hour or so.

 

* * *

 

The passing time had seen miracles at Blacktree farm, as Elfie seemed to recover, so did the land, growing more vibrant than the day. Feeling a sense of owing, she worked hard, as if taming the land around her. Around the evening, she sat back, resting against the shade of a sturdy oak tree. The swaying of the leaves calmed her, and she rested her eyes, sinking into the earth. 

 

“Elfie!” She opened her eyes to the young voice, as two young children sat beside her under the tree. Milly, the oldest, was about seven and had long dark-blonde hair, in comparison, her brother was five years old, with lighter short curls, and his name was Calder. The girl spoke with a soft and excitable accent, and had a grin spread across her face. “There you are!” 

 

The redheaded woman smiled softly, the sun kissing her light gold skin. “Here I am. The war is over then, I presume?” 

 

“Yes!” Calder perked up triumphantly, putting on a strong slightly deeper voice. “The evil Stormcloaks are dead! I won! Long live the Emperor!” 

 

Elfie chuckled as the little girl frowned. “I keep trying to tell him, the emperor wasn’t an actual dragon! Not even that Septim one was!”

 

“Rrr-awlg!” The boy mimicked roaring at his sister, and put his hands up in the air like wings, to which she batted him down. He moped for a second, before perking up and talking once more. “Elfie! Share us a story! What was your home like? Did you see a dragon? Is that what attacked you?” 

 

“Cal!” Milly nudged him, angrily. “Sorry, Elfie, he didn’t mean to ment-” 

 

The woman put her hand to the air, yielding and shaking her head delicately. “It’s okay. But the truth is, I don’t really have anything interesting to tell you - I can barely remember it myself.” 

 

“Didn’t you have parents? Siblings?” The nordling spoke quickly in confusement then stopped, realising she was running her mouth. “I.. I mean.”

 

“I’m afraid if I did, they don’t mean much to me right now. But that’s okay, family aren’t who your born with. I think family are the people who support you, who stay with you, who never hurt you, no matter what. I think.. Yes, I think that’s what family should be. And everyone else is just background.” She couldn’t recall what her train of thought was, but it felt right, and resonated in her, and as she spoke more the seed bloomed and comforted her. “I think friends are what matter.” 

 

“Well, you’re our friend! And you can be part of our family!” Calder spoke eagerly, and she felt oddly at peace. Welcome. It was something she hadn’t felt often, but this place seemed to glow with it. The kids ran back in as their parents called for them, but Elfie remained under the tree, pondering of the time she’d lost. 

 

What had her life been like? What stories had she forgotten? Her dreams were lined with small light shows, flickers of a past but nothing coherent. There was something there, someone, waiting. She watched as the wind caressed the branches of the tree, the leaves flittering and fluttering like thought, before breaking away with the smallest gust and travelling to the far distance. She wondered to herself, what it would be like, to be a small bug on one of those leaves, an insignificant thing on a grand journey. She wondered perhaps, she was that bug, that her grand journey was there, but only background noise to others. She began to find herself longing strangely, not for all the answers, but for the peace of knowing, knowing who or what she was before she was found in a pile of mud.

 

* * *

 

Sophia Varius danced around the gardens of Green Emperor Way, never truly giving thought to the tombstones scattered through the district. There used to be more, but they were moved when the Imperial City was ransacked, never to be replaced, instead the bodies of the dead of many wars had eventually piled up into a mass grave, which had been covered with paving and shrubbery. Like a maze now, most of it was cut off from the public, and guards would line the hedges. 

 

She jumped onto one of the stone railings, which cut off most of the path from the grass, and balanced herself on it carefully, pondering in thought. She’d meant to see her friend earlier, but the guards seemed more vigilant than ever. There had to be some way to get rid of them, to move past them. As a child, she was cunning, inventive, but she couldn’t see an answer, not quite yet. 

 

“Sophia! Come back here this instance!” Her train of thought was broken by her mother’s call, and her soft hazel braids followed her as she jumped down, running back over to her mother, who was sitting on a small bench. The child hopped onto the Empress’ lap, and Lyra was quick to fix her daughter’s hair back into a tight bun, seeming slightly embarrassed and sighing under her breath. “I always imagined royal children would be less of a handful.” 

 

She laughed, but her company, three ladies of the court seemed unamused. One of them scowled, muttering under her breath. “She is rather /barbaric/, isn’t she? Oh, but I suppose it reminds you of home.” 

 

The black-haired Duchess then smiled, smirking slightly and Lyra frowned ever so subtly. This was.. New. They’d always clearly disliked her, she could tell. After all, anyone who wasn’t an Imperial was welcomed but with side eyes, whispers and faint cackling, as if they were jokes. But until now, the other members of court had sucked up to her - after all, she was empress. She figured they’d talk behind her back, have a good laugh, but to her face, in public - she wasn’t used to it and caught rather agasp. Instead of retaliating, she smiled back, trying to keep her cool, as was no doubt expected of her. 

 

The others seemed to notice the tension however, and the Duchess continued. “Though I suppose we can’t all be perfect, it must be so hard for you, and poor Sophia. With all this talk of daedra and corruption, I don’t suppose many people support you. Certainly not the lesser folk, but they never did support any rule; that’s why they’re called the lesser. And, well, you know how court is, can’t trust anyone these days. Don’t worry, though, I trust you. Oh, you poor dear. You probably didn’t even know about any of it, and now I’m running my mouth. I’m sure it’s just rumours, you and your husband are so pious after all.” 

 

“I can assure you, rumours are but rumours.” Lyra chuckled awkwardly, as if she felt under interrogation. It was stupid, it was just rumours, but rumours held power, they had brought down good people in the past. She knew she wasn’t good by any means, she’d taken lives before, but she wasn’t evil. She was scared, but regained confidence in her tone, knowing that she couldn’t seem weak in front of them, especially not in her daughter’s young and impressionable eyes.  “You can never pay too much attention to these things - lies are made, after all, to distract and to entertainment.” 

 

“But..” She continued, looking down to her daughter in the eyes, who seemed confused at best. “We can’t let anything distract us from your aunt’s visit, darling. She’s coming all the way from Skyrim to see you, for your tenth birthday, and that’s a very important day, for all of us.” 

 

“You see, Solitude is a very long way from here, and your aunt; my sister, is a very busy woman. You know how much she goes through to come here, don’t you? Remember, when your father had some delicate business here, so we went to visit her for five years? And you just loved the steamed crabs? Well, we’ll be able to have them again while she’s here.” 

 

“All the way from Solitude, though? For crabs?” The shorter, older woman chuckled. “Forgive me my lady, but that seems a little excessive.” 

 

Lyra patted Sophia’s head, running her fingers through her hair and continuing to smile. “Yes, but Sophia is a very special girl.” She leaned down, almost as if to whisper it in her ear. 

 

* * *

 

The battle had been tougher than expected for a long abandoned tower, but eventually the pair ascended to the peak, which by all means appeared to be a study. It was far less neglected, with strange runes on tapestries hanging down the walls, and shelves of bottles upon bottles. Stranger still was the lack of dirt and cobwebs, with only a few specks to be seen. 

 

“You’re sure this place is abandoned?” The orc spoke first as her companion began looking at the various assortments, in a sense of awe. Past the potions and jars, there were a number of oddities, expensive ones, which surely had a long story to tell. Glahrza kept her swords ready, something about this place made her skin crawl. She’d hauled through tombs, mass graves and even a nest of vampires, but nothing agitated her like this. 

 

“Mhmm.” In comparison, Ayda seemed calm, almost as if she was daydreaming. Her voice was soft, smooth yet contemplative, as her eyes would flicker from corner to corner, taking in her surroundings. As if she was looking for one thing in particular, scanning everything else and letting it be. 

 

Glahrza would pick up a jar in curiosity, only to set it right back down. Out of sight, out of mind. She’d seen plenty of eyes in her time, but most resided in a head even after death - that was, except for that time her father had gouged another man’s to mush. The very memory made her queasy, even after all those years. Such was the blood price. She didn’t notice it, but she’d started pacing - she wanted to leave, as soon as possible. Sooner than possible.

 

Ayda began carefully plucking through a large tome, the pages old and thin, the parchment still slightly coarse - something like lamb-skin, but worn. The inscriptions were a mixture of common and daedric, which came as no surprise to her. Finally, she paused, laying the book down and open. “See any horns over there? You know, pointy things?” 

 

Puzzled, the orc began looking but hesitated, failing to see why she was looking in the first place. She turned around to the redguard once more. “Wait, what? There some kind of hidden door we’re looking for? Or some kind of nord trinket?” 

 

Her friend turned around to face her, wearing a soft smile that turned quickly into a frown. “I.. I’ll tell you in a minute, okay? But first I need you to see if he had any left unicorn horns - and while you’re at it, some hist sap. That should look like a goldish liquid - I think, I’ve never actually seen any before. Maybe it’s green.”

 

“What, you think I’m too dumb to understand?” She hissed under her breath, reluctantly returning to the shelves. They were jumbled, not consistently organised like she expected a master of magic would have done. Hastily scribbled labels hugged onto each jar, but the writing was a mess and illegible. Instead, she went on the vague descriptions, half expecting it to be a joke - really, unicorns? But she eventually saw something pointy, a pearl-like spiral, and she presumed it must be close. Picking it off of a sheet of paper, and clutching it in her hand, she turned around once more, then almost dropped it in shock. “What the--?”

 

Ayda could understand her loss for words, but kept her head in the game, finishing painting the rune on the floor which she was working on, before looking back to her friend, still crouching. “We need to talk.” 

 

“Yes.. we do.” Glahrza’s voice squeaked out, unsure of what exactly to do and hoping it was just paint. Something told her it wasn’t, but she decided it was better to be hopeful and blissfully ignorant. She was beginning, though, to struggle for many explanations for the situation that was now unfolding. 

 

“It’s not what it looks like!” The redguard quickly replied, before biting her tongue. “Alright, it is what it looks like. But there’s a good reason for it.” 

 

“I’m not even sure I know what it looks like. You’re not trying to become some kind of snail witch, right? Because that might put a stunt in our relationship..” She’d try to joke, as was often when she was nervous, but she still kept her blade close, and tightened her grip on the horn. What was she going to do? Stab her? No, she didn’t expect she could. 

 

“We.. I.. didn’t come here just to find some old trinkets. I came here because.. I.. love you, Glaz, I want to spend my life with you.” 

 

“And this is, what, how they do marriage where you’re from? I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at.” 

 

“I know we’ve only been working together for a year, but I’ve never felt so sure of anything.” 

 

“No, I mean, I get what you’re saying there but..” 

 

“But we can’t keep going like this. Eventually, Tarjihad, or my parents, will catch up with me. And if they find out about us, we’re both dead. My family were never the accepting kind, and they’ll never accept us.” 

 

“I still don’t understand why you’re sitting down drawing right now.” Glahrza shrugged off the feelings for now. Feelings were nothing, they come and go as fast as they came. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge in herself, but overhanging it was uncertainty. 

 

Ayda sighed, rubbing her fingers off with a cloth. “N’Gasta used to worship a daedric prince, a daedric prince who makes deals with mortals. I want to make a deal with that prince.”

 

“That’s stupid.” Glahrza snorted loudly, but then her tone flared slightly, as if talking to a stubborn child, which was a change for her. “This is the stupidest idea anyone’s had since.. It’s the stupidest idea. You do know daedra are evil things that don’t care for romance?” 

 

“Don’t you worship Malacath? Isn’t he a daedra?” Ayda stood up, hands on her hips defensively. She knew that, of course, it was a stupid idea. A stupid idea for a desperate, stupid person. But it wasn’t off the whim. She knew what she was doing - what had to be done. “Look, you trust me, don’t you?” 

 

There was a pause, that hung in the air for an uncomfortably long time. They stared at each other, nerves showing on both of them yet their eyes still locked. The redguard bit her tongue, wondering if maybe she wasn’t going to get the answer she was hoping for - but her friend’s face dropped, her brows lowered in what seemed like sympathy or defeat. The orc sighed, before picking up the orange jar.

 

“I trust you. I still think it’s a stupid idea, but I’m with you.” She mumbled once more, somewhat still befuddled. The victor looked over the pages of the book once more, before picking up a dark metal basin, and setting it on the middle of the circle she’d made, then looking back at the orc.

 

“Place the items into the basin.” She spoke softly, with a twinge of both excitement and apprehension.

 

“What? As they are?” 

 

“Yes. I’ll begin the spell.” 

 

Glahrza still held apprehension, but she placed the horn down, then, with quite a lot of force and a small grunt, she opened up the jar of what she presumed was hist sap. It smelt sweet, sickly, and it glowed slightly. She considered what it would be like to just place her finger in it, but decided they were already set on one stupid idea, and that would be enough for one day. Instead, she poured it out on top of the horn. Her friend whispered something in the wind as the orc pounded on the back of the jar, trying to tease all of the strange gloop out. Ayda then stopped speaking, and ushered for her friend to stand back, which she almost eagerly did, throwing the jar aside. 

 

They both stared at the pile on the floor, frightened although not wishing to admit it. Glahrza would glance at the pile, then at Ayda, then to the pile again. Maybe it wasn’t going to work. Maybe fate was telling them to stop with the very stupid, very silly idea. 

 

But suddenly the room darkened, and seemed to fill up with smoke, which they choked on before a beam of orange-red light seemed to appear, banishing away the smoke and circling itself to eventually form into what appeared to be a doorway, or something near one. 

 

“Well, I’ll be literally damned..” The orc croaked slightly, and the redguard seemed to perk up at the fact that it worked - as if completely forgetting where she was planning to go, or so her friend presumed, because no one would be grinning at the idea of actually going to hell.

 

“It worked. It worked!” Ayda giggled like a small child before trying to take a more serious tone once more. “Well.. There’s no going back now.” 

 

She held out her hand, and her lover gripped it firmly, responding still with the hint of concern in her throat. “No going back now.” 

 

Together they took the first steps into a new and terrifying world.

 

* * *

 

The dog stretched its legs on the bed, almost like a cat, its tail wagging excitedly in rhythm with its panting. Meanwhile, at the small table in her room, Sophia scratched at the paper, drawing intently. She drew often, not that she was particularly good for a child, but the constant guards and lack of parenting left her with little other activities. Luckily for her, she did have one friend who was allowed to visit - or at least, found his own way in, and who liked to, apparently. 

 

“Done!” The child squeaked a shrill tone of excitement, setting down the charcoal in accomplishment before waving her picture in front of the dog. “Do you think he’ll like it?” 

 

“I think the only thing your father likes is his own ego. No offence, kid. But it’s not going to be hung up in council chambers, if that was what you’re hoping for.” The dog barked back, before rolling over on it’s back. “Listen, kid, truth hurts but you’re old enough to understand it, so I’m going to tell you straight. Your father doesn’t love you, or think of you as anything more than a responsibility.” 

 

“Well, my father says you’re a liar.” She crossed her arms and pouted, ignoring the talking dog, which was quite used to being ignored. “I told him everything you said, and he said it’s not true.” 

 

“Of course he did. People don’t actually admit to their mistakes, they just blame them on everyone else. Sometimes they don’t even know it. But look at me, I’m a dog, what would a dog know about lying?” He’d sit up once more, always constantly energetic, and moving. She wasn’t sure how he did it, for she was sure that even magical dogs needed to sleep some time. She sighed, patting his head.

 

“Well, maybe someone lied to you then. Or maybe you heard it wrong. But he’s not a bad man.” She looked at the picture she’d drawn once more, of how it really was, and she knew it to be so. They were a happy family, a happy family with duties that sometimes kept them apart, but they were the happiest, nicest, goodest family in the whole world. It didn’t matter who else believed it. 

 

“Listen, princess. You’ll be empress one day and you’ll be glad I’m telling you all this. No one loves you. No one’s good, no one’s bad. Everyone’s just a different colour of filth. The good filth, the filth that stays alive, does what it’s told, it’s smart about it. The only people with any power around here have probably done worse than whatever people say about them. And those are the facts of life.” It always struck her at how happy her friend appeared, all the time, no matter the subject. And lately the subject had gotten more and more.. Mean, she supposed, although she doubted it was meant that way. 

 

“You’re wrong. And I’ll prove it.” She spoke with a loud firmness, ending the matter altogether. “And if you keep going on about it, when I’m empress I’ll make it illegal for dogs to yap.” 

 

She’d put the picture down on her desk after a knocking at the door, followed by her old maid entering the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, but I thought I heard arguing.. And oh dear, what a mess this charcoal can be.”

 

The plump woman rushed over to the desk, wiping off the flecks from the wooden table. Sophia sat down silently on her bed with her hands behind her. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“Yes, yes, don’t worry dear, it’s just an old woman losing her hearing, and her mind possibly..” She spoke with a northern accent, slightly rough but caring and endearing nonetheless. She’d then pick up the picture, looking at it and smiling at the child. “This is very beautiful. Did you draw this? Your parents are so very proud of you, I’m sure they’ll want to see it.” 

 

“I’m going to show father, it’s a surprise! He should be coming soon, shouldn’t he? You really think he’ll like it?” The girl perked up, smiling back. 

 

“Oh, it’s lovely dear, he’ll love it. But.. I thought someone might have told you. I’m afraid your father is rather busy tonight with you know what emperors must do, and your mother is still out with her friends, so I’ll read you your story tonight.” The old woman began looking amongst the shelves, while the girl looked down, her smile turning into a frown.

 

“It’s okay. I don’t need a story tonight. I’m a big girl. I’ll just.. I’ll make my own in my dreams.” 

 

* * *

 

“So, I said, ‘Xhuth woman! Take the kids and money! I’m going to join the bard’s college and prove you and him and everyone else wrong!’, and I packed my bags and left the marsh for these lands. Never quite made it to the college, though, they said I was terrible, bad, that my only hope would be to learn the lute, and I told them, I told them..” The lizard drifted off half sentence, finishing his mug of ale. He wasn’t particularly old, and had dark green scales, and two horns to each side of his jaw. He was, all in all, entirely unremarkable, and his story seemed so too. He was ambitious, sure, with a raspy voice like that.

 

“So you told them, you’re going to prove them all wrong.” The redguard sitting opposite him in the stall finished his sentence for him, with little excitement. His expression was rather placid, if not fed up. His garb was loose-fitting, and not very appropriate for the weathers of Skyrim, but instead reflected the warm sands he’d spent most of his life in. “I’m guessing by the end of the night you’ll be telling me the same thing, huh?”

 

The argonian paused. “Well, no. I get the point now. I’m trying a new method, embracing it. That’s why my name is Sings-Badly. Maybe I’ll make a market for equally terrible bards. I’ll slowly change the world someday, mark my..” 

 

“Your words, I get it. I was asking why anyone would bother playing all the way out here, not for your life story.” The man sighed and rolled his eyes. A moment of peace, of reflection had been all he was hoping for, but instead it seemed that the only other patron of the bar had taken to him for conversation. Maybe he didn’t look rough enough - it was true, he didn’t carry the sheer number of scars most people in his line of work did. He counted himself as lucky in that respect. Lucky, and not stupid enough to push said luck.

 

“Enough about me then, I suppose.” The argonian bard hissed and tutted, stuffing his mouth with a roll of bread, but not refraining from conversation. “What about you? You some kind of traveller, or ‘haps you know something to do with the bandits in the area.” 

 

Ruiz would have promptly talked down upon him for profiling, had that statement not been somewhat close to the truth, which in hindsight he annoyed himself - after all, he certainly wasn’t helping make a good name. Then again, he was the only redguard in the gang, and he hadn’t joined the life-style out of some strange cultural bias or lust to bully people. It was far more complicated than that, and an admitted mistake. A long line of mistakes had taken him here, and those mistakes he couldn’t pin on anyone other than himself. Well, maybe another person, but that was an entirely different matter of shit. “Maybe I do. Right now, I just want to drown my sorrows in silence, so if you don’t mind. 

 

“Tsk.” Sings-Badly placed the bread back down on his plate, taking a bottle near him and refilling his mug, then pausing to gesture and joke to his new-somewhat-unmutual-friend. “I’d rather just give you my ale than have you rob me of it later.” 

 

“Can’t rob a man who has nothing to give.” He spoke back with sarcasm in his tone, sliding over his tankard, and continuing to speak, feeling somewhat as if owing a sense of friendliness now. “Besides, like you, seems I’m not particularly suited to my job.” 

 

“Not for all I’ve heard. Sounds like you’re a real bunch of ruffians, terrorizing merchants and travellers. I bet the ladies are all over you.” The reptilian filled up the cup before swiftly sliding it back, popping the cork back in his bottle and taking a swig of his own, plopping his head back and savouring the taste on his tongue. 

 

“Not my usual company, really. And my taste for them is wearing thin.” The man too kicked back slightly, feeling a little less on edge, suspecting that perhaps the drink was loosening him up slightly. 

 

“I suppose that’s why you’re alone here.” The lizard smirked, but non-threateningly. He had a sense for the wrong crowd, but he didn’t feel particularly put off by the man, no matter the amount of badness than the man tried to present himself with. 

 

The man, too, took a gulp of the ale. “You’re sure your true calling is as a bard? Because you’re starting to sound like some sort of detective.” 

 

The tavern was still, even with them, relatively quiet and at peace, so it wasn’t hard to notice the small armoured figure enter. It sent a small shiver through Ruiz’s spine, for despite their height, they seemed no doubt capable of themselves, and prepared for a fight. They weren’t a guard, no, but maybe some sort mercenary or adventurer perhaps. No doubt words of his ‘friends’ had gotten around, and although he didn’t exactly hold fondness for them, he had to say he was still pretty fond of his own skin. Sings-Badly, too, seemed to sense the anxiety looming. 

 

The figure, with a long ginger braid, began speaking with the owner, in hushed tones that could not be decoded from such a distance. Then the keep seemed to glance in the direction of them, coyly. Ruiz’s hand slipped towards his cutlass, twitching ever so slightly. 

 

* * *

 

The candles flickered slowly, dancing from side to side, the only sources of light in a dark stoned hall. The walls were gilded with engravings, with tales from times even before he stepped foot there. Etches of great battles and stories that words could not tell with justice lined the sides, framed and bordered, no doubt viable to stand the test of time. The light fractured and hollowed out the shells, attaching itself to every incision and alcove. Shades of amber turned to waves against the granite, before reaching the ceiling and dispersing into nothingness. 

 

The hooded figures watched in silence, the warmth only occasionally meeting their masks, glimmering softly. Near the altar, which had in way been fashioned to a desk, Qethin stared into the flames, avoiding eye contact with the document in front of him, rather counter intuitively. He leaned against it, the tapping of his fingers in thought, brass against stone, being the only sound.

 

“Have you called for me out of necessity, or out of your desperate need for company?” Eventually, his guest broke the silence rather impatiently, with frustration slipping through his usually calmed voice. Although invited, he knew better than to feel welcome in this place. Miraak knew very well that the distaste and distrust was mutual between them, and knowing his ‘comrades’, he wouldn’t be surprised if temper took the best of the lesser priest and only one of them was left breathing. 

 

Although masked, Qethin’s upset was visible. He appeared to be shaking in anger ever so slightly, like a boiling furnace. He clenched his hands on the edges of the table, but stayed silent for a few moments, pondering his next words carefully, or more rather, being caught up with fantasies in his mind. Finally, he settled for a cliche and ultimately vague statement.  “I know what you’re doing.”

 

“You do?” He was taken aback by his words, not by honesty but by confusion. He crossed his arms defensively by instinct, raising a brow beneath his guise. “Pray tell what that could possibly be.”

 

The younger priest turned around in the blink of an eye, his fury apparent, his tone loud enough to fill the empty room. “You truly think me a fool, don’t you? You think you can bring my downfall with a flick of your wrist. Your words aren’t as powerful as you think they are, and neither are you. Well, fine. Send them against me, but I shall not fall. It will take more than the likes of you and our masters to tear me apart, and I shall not go down alone!” 

 

Silence followed once more, before the other could no longer hold his laughter, which predictably only fueled the other’s rage, followed promptly by a state of tumult. Finally, Miraak replied. “Whatever despicable act you believe me capable of, I assure you I’ve not committed. Do you think anyone would waste such time with you? You’ll quite clearly bring about your own destruction, I’m afraid.”

 

“Am I expected to believe that? You’re clearly not above such depravity.” Qethin retorted, still somewhat agitated and frowning, but clearly if anything puzzled and thrown off by the response, before turning back to the parchment, shaking his head in unrest, continuing as if speaking to himself. “No, no. This must be some sort of.. Strange joke.” 

 

“What is?” His guest was now curious, bemused. Whatever was bothering his ‘brother’ was clearly of importance, else the priest wouldn’t have dared to bother inviting him. The gravity of the matter was frankly obvious. 

 

Qethin picked up the letter, waving it dramatically in the air, still fuming. “They want me to stand down, to join the temple in Skuldafn. Me! Not you, or that Skaal wretch, but me! After all I’ve achieved here.. They want me to just pack up and leave. Those.. Those.. Meyye.” 

 

“Calm yourself. Is it not supposedly an honour to be called there?” Miraak knew he’d do many miraculous and challenging acts in his life, but counselling an unruly child was certainly not one he had predicted. Then again, he had always been one to live in the present, and to face the future as it came. If anything, the news was palatable for him - after all, neither he, nor any other priest in the land liked the arrogant fool, or found any pleasantries in working with him. Perhaps his prayers had been answered.

 

“An honour?!” He’d knock down an ornamental figure in his wrath, more accurately described as a display better suited for infants. “Where is the honour in being nothing more than a slave? In being locked away in some never-ending fortress, expected to be on your knees praying for mercy every waking minute, even in death? In being nothing more than a pet at best, and a walking meal at worst?”

 

“And here was I thinking that you would never sympathise with the common folk. If anything comes of this, I should hope it’d put you in your place.” 

 

“How dare you. This.. this is different, in all ways. The people are below us. They deserve to be reminded of it. I.. I am not like them, or you. I am free, and I will not listen to some beast no longer.” 

 

To which Miraak laughed once more, though not out of spite. “No one is truly ‘free’ here. Freedom is unachievable, and certainly never belonged to us. A nice dream, but a dream nonetheless. If you wish to make mistakes, to chase after dreams, be my guest - I only hope that it does not end badly for those naive enough to walk behind you.” 

 

* * *

 

This wasn’t his first time in this land, but no matter the amount of visits he had, Marcallus was never going to be comfortable. That was probably the reason these talks always had to take place here, he bet - it was just another sick thrill. Still, he tried to remain composed as he was led through the field, over a stone path towards a clearing. He tried to pay as little attention to the surroundings as possible, after all, he figured none of it really mattered until he’d try to add meaning to it. 

 

He wasn’t adept at magic, or a religious man. He knew how to use a sword, and how to negotiate, but that was all he needed here. Or at least, he told himself that. Anything to keep himself collected.

 

As he approached, the prince seemed to be preoccupied, despite the fact that time had no place here, and that he’d come here on his request. He’d wait as the figure throwed a stick far into the distance, and the dog would go running after it. A small figure, with short gold hair gestured for him to sit on a small marble bench, not unlike the ones in the Imperial City. She was around the height of his daughter, with horns like the master of the realm, but less impressive, and bared the same unsettling smirk. In fact, all the figures in the clearing did, which he counted around seven, many in the background of the clearing, with what appeared to be other people, who did not seem in quite the same mood. He could tell those were like him, for they did not bare the horns or black and brown outfits of the servants - though he supposed, in some ways, they were likely more the servants than the small daedra. 

 

Needless to say, he didn’t trust any of them, but did as he was expected and sat down, keeping his eyes on the one nearest, who he was sure to expect to slit his throat -  a suspicion that only grew stronger when she walked to stand behind him. Then he remembered, that right here, death was the least of his worries.

 

“Don’t be so scared. It wouldn’t hurt you to relax every once in a while.” The Daedric Prince of Bargains chuckled mockingly. Even without facing him, he seemed to see him shiver, or at least sense it. Perhaps he was used to it, Marcallus thought, hoping that perhaps he wasn’t that bad of an actor after all. “That is to say, you don’t have any reason to fear my company, do you? You haven’t done anything that would upset me, have you?”

 

From a long political career, the Emperor had learnt when - and when not to speak. Now, he felt, was clearly one of those times where silence was the best answer. He very much expected that Clavicus Vile wasn’t even looking for a response.

 

He turned around to face him, his tone darkening, his accent sly and harsh, yet charismatic. “Oh, wait. You have. You’ve been directly violating our little ‘agreement’. A shame, it is, truly - we were getting along so well. You were playing your part perfectly, and everything was going to plan. Such a well behaved pet.. But now?” 

 

The prince would sit down opposite him, leaning back nonchalantly, but with enmity shining through his words. He’d take a long and over dramatic sigh. “Now, you seem to have it in your stupid little head that you can just ignore your responsibilities. It’s as if you think I put you in a place of power just so that you could do whatever you want.” 

 

“Well? Don’t you have something to say for yourself?” He’d tut, staring at the mortal, before continuing furthermore, without allowing the time for a reply. He’d stand up once again, and began pacing in his irritation. “Do you realise how easy it would be to have you, and everyone you hold dear, removed? And I wouldn’t do that in a nice way, no. They’d beg, just as you should be doing now. I think even your stupid little spawn could understand just how serious this situation is.”

 

“I can’t do push every last little law of yours through the council. Be realistic.” Marcallus rather bravely snapped, interrupting him. Bravely, and perhaps foolishly, in hindsight. But he decided to continue nonetheless. “I can’t, not now. These things have to be done slowly, tactfully, and telling people the truth is only going to make it less likely. And if you - if you dare lay a hand on my wife, or my daughter, it won’t happen at all. I’m not stupid, Vile. I know you need me, I know that’s the reason I’m here.”

 

“Be realistic?” The daedroth laughed once more, giggling like a child, surprised only slightly by his ‘client’s stubbornness. He appeared, in contrast, both amused and angered at the same time. “Do you think yourself more intelligent than me, that your little mortal mind can comprehend complexities I am incapable of? You’re very cute when you’re trying to be a hero, Marcallus, especially considering the very reason you’re here. But I can’t forgive someone based on their naivety - it would set a terrible example. 

 

After all, and this seems to be very hard for you to understand, so I’ll set it straight for you - me and my brethren have our reputations, and we hold them very dearly. Now I have such a wonderful one, one I’m assured you already knew of when you first contacted me. I give people gifts, some very nice gifts, but I’ve always made it clear that I want something in return, and I will have that thing in return. I won’t be cheated from it, and I never have been. 

Now, when we made our little ‘deal’, I made my demands quite obvious. I wanted two things, your soul - a given in any pact, really, and your loyalty. You told me you’d do everything and anything I ask. I know, it’s so very much to ask of a creature bound to such a small and tedious existence, but you were asking for such a grand blessing, so if anything, I was being nice by being so.. Lenient. 

 

Really, it should be enough to make you behave knowing that I have control over your entire afterlife, but if you continue to try and pull the wool over my eyes, I may be forced to take more drastic action. It will happen, Marcallus. But if I have to harm you to get you doing right, I’m not above it. I’m a god, your god - and my eyes are everywhere. My hands are everywhere. So I suggest you stop wasting my time.”

 

The Emperor bit his lip. Part of him always did want to lunge out, to try and strangle the wiry neck of his pathetic assigned puppeteer, but he knew it wouldn’t work, or de-escalate the situation one bit. And he could tell, too, that the prince could see the murderous intent in his eyes, that he took pleasure in the distress caused.

 

But he wasn’t going to let this devil bully him any longer.

 

* * *

 

She woke up in a cold sweat, even though the sun shined blazingly through the small holes to the ceiling. She gasped for breath, feeling her chest, where her wound had been. It felt like it had opened up again, and burst with a thousand flesh eating insects. She frantically tugged the bandages off, expecting it to be a horror to look at, but to her surprise there was nothing there except the dark markings on her skin - but they didn’t look like wounds, more like ink, henna tattoos. 

 

Elfie sat upright, shivering even in the heat. She couldn’t remember much of her dream, which felt an ironic reflection on her own life. She could only remember a few things, the same things linked with the dream she had the night before. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, waiting for some poor and foolish bird to come along and gobble them up. 

 

There was a place, a place she’d heard of, a ruin she’d seen as a city in her dreams. Mournhold, city of light, city of magic. Maybe there was something there for her. Maybe her parents, or her friends, were waiting there for her. Waiting for her to go home. Was it home? It sounded like home. 

 

It was a start. She picked up the small satchel the family had given her, and placed in it a loaf of bread, and a small dagger. She was thankful, truly thankful, for everything they’d done for her - if not for them, she’d surely be dead or worse. But she couldn’t just lie in wait, never knowing. It was a dream, a vision perhaps, but it was all she had left of who she was. She wasn’t about to let that go.

 

She dressed quickly, and crept up from the stairs of the basement, where she’d been allowed to stay. She figured it was best to move before they woke up, but she was too late, and Holgir appeared shocked to see her with the satchel over her shoulder, almost as if he’d read her mind. “You’re leaving?” 

 

“Yes.” The woman sighed, hanging her head down as if she was told off, or as if she was a captive caught during an escape attempt. “I’m sorry, I truly appreciate everything you and your family have done for me..”

 

“So you were going to leave without saying goodbye before hand?” The man frowned slightly, not angry but rather more upset. “You’re a strange one, Elfie, with some strange ways. You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

She laughed slightly, easing the mood. “No, I’m really not. But I must go. You’ve already helped me so much but.. I’ve been having these dreams, of this place, I think it’s where I need to go, where I need to be.” 

 

“Dreams, huh?” The red-haired woman expected the man to ridicule her, and her stupid elf magic. But his tone seemed serious. “I understand. Where’s this place your visions take you? A far away continent with others like yourself?” 

 

“I couldn’t make much out. It was blurred. I think.. I think the place was called Mournhold.”

 

“You can’t be serious about going there. That’s dangerous lands, that is. Half of Morrowind is, but ever since the argonian invasion, and that strange island in the sky? It’s probably near the only place on the mainland no one dares to go near.”

 

“I dare, because I must. I cannot live as a shell of a being. Even if it brings me to the door of death, I must find out my truth.” In her gold eyes shined fear, but it was overpowered by conviction. She stood tall, proud, and knowing, for now she could see the road ahead of her, now it was paved and waiting.

 

“Then I’m going with you, Elfie. Just give me the day to say goodbye, and to pack, tomorrow we shall go together.” The man gulped down his mug with haste and sat up, and the woman paused in confusion.

 

“What?” Her tone hushed in puzzlement, taken aghast slightly. Did she hear him correctly? Surely not. 

 

“You’ve done a wonder for us here, Elfie. Only right that I pay you back. The road to Morrowind is dangerous, and in there it’s even worse. Now, I haven’t been on a good adventure for years, but I still know how to swing an axe, and I’m damned if I’m letting anyone go out there on their own, even a stranger. But together? We might have a chance in oblivion of surviving.” He grinned at her slightly. “Besides, it’s dull as rock around here.”

 


	4. Hostage Negotiation

The pair opened their eyes in unison, the sun glaring brightly in comparison to the darkened halls they’d only just passed through. It certainly wasn’t what they were expecting from the hellish realms of Oblivion. The skies were only slightly cloudy, a soft blue -  at peace. A slight passing wind waved through fields of grass onto meadows, the air carrying a sweet, almost sickly and overpowering aroma. Glahrza began to wonder if it had been really a portal to a Daedric realm they’d walked into, or to one of a painting. What was it she’d been so frightened about again?

 

She was first shocked, but promptly amused when her companion Ayda fell to the ground, laughing loudly and staring into the sky, the light glimmering in her golden-brown eyes. The orc joined in, throwing herself down next to her, as if they were children once more about to spot figures amongst the clouds.

 

“Are you sure this is the place?” Glahrza eventually broke the giggling silence, but most of her reservations were now gone, because clearly to her the spell hadn’t worked. Maybe that meant that her friend would forget about this scheme, and then they would be able to look to the future.

 

She said she liked her, that she wanted to be with her. And in moments like this, it felt right, a childish daydream perhaps, but right. She always thought Ayda saw her as a passtime, nothing more than a fun little friend. Maybe she was dreaming. It was fast, very fast. Was she really ready to settle down? When she looked into the redguard’s amber eyes, she fell in love, again and again. She could have spent a thousand years with her in that tent.

 

But she lied to her. The orc wasn’t ready to deal with daedric pacts. She thought they were hunting for treasure. She used her, didn’t she? And even if it felt right, it was wrong. Could she share her bed with someone who didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth?

 

“I don’t know. Maybe the spell didn’t work. Maybe I messed up the words but.. Maybe it did. Maybe this is what we asked for?” Ayda had always been passionate, headstrong, but she’d spent months looking to the future. A future where she could be with who she chose, where she could make her own decisions and be what she really was.

 

It’d taken a long time for her to accept her feelings for women, let alone for a female orc. But from the moment her family told her of her husband-to-be, she knew she wasn’t going to be free without making a lot of sacrifices. Unlike most of Hammerfell, her parents were hard and unaccepting people, and they had set her to be with the leader of their province. But she didn’t want that, so she took fate into her own hands, just as she was doing again.

 

She felt bad for withholding her plans, maybe she should have told her sooner. But she was scared, scared that the woman she found herself loving would laugh and then run, and that she’d be back where she started. Alone.

 

“Well, might as well get this over with.” The orc went to get up, and her companion followed her lead. They both wanted to talk about what happened, about their feelings for each other, but neither could quite push it out of their throat, so they began walking forward, hoping that eventually their crush would break the deadly silence.

 

The horizon seemed to stretch, through trees and hills and prairies, lush greens, bright flowers, and the sun didn’t seem to move. It seemed for the longest time, they were alone, and they kept walking, skipping, joking around, for moments acting as if nothing had ever happened.

 

Eventually, they noticed figures in the distance. Two short, almost identical in stature, horned figures watched over a hobbled pale elven woman, who appeared by all means to be working the land. Her garden was bright, lively, and well-kept, and she seemed intent on keeping it that way. She wore a common dress, and a hat to keep the sun out of her eyes, and the shade hid most of her face.

 

The other figures appeared to be twins, or at least, that was Ayda’s best guess. They both stood with their arms crossed, seemingly silent and oblivious to their new neighbours. It didn’t take long though, as they approached, the two scowled. It didn’t seem they were very welcome here.

 

Before they could explain themselves, the horned woman accosted them. Her skin was a backtoned olive, almost gold colour, and her eyes were piercing gold -  almost more striking was her long hair, which was a light ashy blonde, trailing all the way down to her hips, curling at the ends.

 

“You. Mortals. Stop right there.” She seemed to speak two tones at once, but her words were still clear. Ayda had never really seen a daedra in her life, and had no clue what to expect - but this wasn’t exactly what she was expecting - though the fact that they were being referred to as mortals was a rather telltale sign. “Why are you trespassing here?”

 

“Trespassing?” Glahrza was a little bit bemused, and it showed. Didn’t daedra want people to come to their realms? It seemed a little silly to her, that there would be spells of transportation, and yet they didn’t want people to use them. Admittedly, Glahrza would never quite understand how anything related to magic worked - after all, it was a school of contradiction, and she didn’t have the time for it.

 

“We’re here to make a deal with the master of this realm, Clavicus Vile.” Ayda interrupted her, effectively shushing her, as was often the case. Glahrza figured that if they were really going through with this, that she’d have to get used to it. After all, that was what people said marriage was, right? Compromise.

 

The daedric twins seemed to burst into laughter, mockingly, which was truly testing the orc. Ayda shot her a scorning glare - violence was not always the answer. She rolled her eyes, sighing, and they both waited for tweedledee and tweedledum to shut the tweedlefuck up.

 

Quite a long time passed, and for a while, the pair wondered just how long two beings could laugh for. Maybe they could run past while they were giggling like young girls, rolling around on the grass. Eventually, however, they calmed down, and rose back to their feet, wiping away the dust before returning to the conversation, still chuckling deviously - which was unnerving to say the least.

 

“Pft.. And what could you possibly..” The male spoke, his voice carrying the same odd duality as the female, and he started snickering once more in the middle of his own sentence, deciding to start again, trying to regain composure. “What could you possibly have to offer the prince of bargains?”

 

“I.. I brought offerings! Here, look.” Flustered, Ayda searched through her bag for trinkets she’d swiped through their journey of the tower, various things she thought of possible worth; golden jewelled candle sticks, an amulet, and she tried to gage their reactions to each item - unimpressed. Thoroughly unimpressed, and she hoped perhaps that was a ploy, that perhaps they were more interested than they let on.

 

The shorter haired one opened their mouth to speak but seemed to pause, looking off in the distance. Following the daedroth’s gaze, Glahrza and Ayda could make out a small figure in the distance. A very, very small one.They squinted, looking on, trying to add detail, before the man spoke again, interrupting them.

 

“You.” He pointed at the orc. “The master will speak with you, and you alone.”

 

“What?” Glahrza didn’t hide her surprise at all, thinking she must of mishead. Ayda had wanted to come here, it was surely her job to do the talking.

 

To which Ayda agreed. “No, we’re both wanting to..”

 

“No.” The horned-woman interrupted them this time. “Our Lord will only speak with this one. You will stay here.”

 

Without more words, the pair shared a couple of glances in thought. On one hand, Ayda was scared - scared her friend was never the best with words, was fickle and stubborn. Glahrza instead feared being away from Ayda for a second - she didn’t like the look of this place. Something sinister lined the air. She was worried, that if she took her eyes off her for a second, that she would be snatched away, and she’d never have the life they’d just dreamed up together.

 

But Ayda knew that they weren’t going to budge, so eventually patted the orc on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine, just.. Try not to muck it up?”

 

Glahrza nodded, and the man began to speak once more, pointing over to the small figure. “Follow Barbas. You’re a mortal, so perhaps you’re dumb enough to try something - rest assured that if you do, you shall not escape alive.”

 

* * *

 

 

The warmth of the tavern was a welcome change from the harrowing mountain breeze of Windhelm, it was quiet, cozy, but yes, most importantly - warm. Kari couldn’t wait to cuddle up by the fire with a warm cup of Jazberry tea, to simmer in a moment of coziness before giving up on a fantastical adventure and heading home.. Maybe. She still hadn’t set her mind just yet - her mother was no doubt waiting on her, and relying on her support, yet she felt chained somewhat in it.

 

As she approached the keep, she tried to put on a strong voice, for every hero from her father’s tales had a strong voice. A heroic voice. She cleared her throat slightly. “Hello, friend. Do you have any good-”

 

Before she could finish her sentence, the innkeeper seemed to whisper, to lower his voice in response, which struck her as odd and sent a chill down her spine, for she had been in inns before, and she knew this was not simply how it went. And it soon became clear something was.. Up.

 

“Thank Talos you came.” The man was in his sixties, his hair graying, and his voice deep, with a heavy accent yet hurried, as if he was on the run from an army of horkers. He pointed as slyly as possible over her shoulder, and Kari’s sight followed the man’s finger, to see him pointing at a redguard. “That one, over there, he’s with them. Start with him and I’m sure he’ll lead you to the others. Thank the gods, these bandits have been terrible for business, drinking everything without paying, scaring away the customers, and that’s not to mention the people they’ve harmed.. What took you so long?”

 

He spoke so quickly, it was hard for her to get a word in. Eventually, after a bit of mumbling, she managed to interrupt the obviously frightened nord. “I’m not sure what’s going on. You’re saying this man is a bandit?”

 

“You’re not from the guards?” He paused, shaken slightly. Although her age was clearly visible, the man was on his last legs, alone in the wilderness, and had been praying they’d send help soon, but it seemed he’d gotten ahead of himself. Not that it changed things. This girl wore armour, and carried a sword, she’d have to do. “I.. We need your help, everyone in this neck of the hold. These men have been tearing villages apart, killing children, doing gods know what, and the people back in Windhelm don’t seem to give a rat’s arse. This man, he comes in here, he’s part of the group, he’ll know where they’re staying. You need to talk to him, get it out of him, end this menace.”

 

It was quite a lot to put on one person, let alone a child, and it was certainly enough to silence her for a moment. She thought over it carefully, it could be dangerous - well, not could. It most certainly was dangerous, and she had little experience with a fight besides that encounter with the bear. But then again, from the sounds of it, she was needed. A hero wouldn’t walk away right now.. What if their next stop was her village? Would she forgive herself then?

 

It wasn’t much of a question after all. She nodded at the keep, steeling herself for the fight no doubt coming next. The man looked rough, well - perhaps not really. His features were angled, but soft, he was well groomed with a slight stubble, and seemingly a polite speaker - if anything, the lizard keeping him company was the loudmouth. As she walked towards them, their conversation pulled to an end, their eyes focused on her. Funnily enough, they seemed as anxious as she was.

 

As she approached closer, their expression changed to puzzlement, after all, they realised this adventurer was.. Well, different. The man took his hand away from his hip, getting up, and in a split second Kari pulled out her sword - which still felt unusual to her. He backed away, both of them sharing an expression of what could only be described as unsettled.

 

“Now, I’m not sure what you’re planning to do with that..” The redguard looked down the barrel of the gun, or more rather, the blade of the sword, and up, back to the crystal eyes of the young girl accosting him. Of all the people, he hadn’t really expected a child to be the one bringing his dreary existence to an end. Madder things had happened, he was sure, yet it hadn’t occurred as a possibility to him.

 

“You.. You’re under arrest.” Kari’s voice whimpered slightly - some hero she was, but this was all so new, her sword shaking in her hand with every wave of her voice. She wasn’t exactly the most threatening of people right now, but they weren’t laughing. That had to count for something. In fact, the argonian had moved back, clearly deciding to himself he was staying well out of this. A sensible option.

 

“For what? Minding my own business?” Ruiz played it cool, or as cool as he could. He was quickly realising that this girl wasn’t going to really be much of a problem. She didn’t look any older than thirteen, fourteen - and from the way her body shivered, he could tell she wouldn’t go through with anything. Still, he didn’t fancy getting into a fight with anyone, especially not a kid, even if they were wearing armour that looked heavy enough to weigh down a mammoth.

 

“For being a bandit!” She shouted out suddenly, obviously a little on edge. He knew damn well what he was, didn’t he? He was just mocking her, pushing her to make a move. No, she had to be strong and firm. She lowered her tone, and steadied her blade. “And I don’t like bandits.”

 

“Me neither.” He looked back at her, straight in the eyes. Her mother always said that truth was in the eyes, but then again, her mother said many crazy things. He kicked back, relaxing slightly once more, seeing her confusion.“Not anymore, at least.”

 

She bit her lip. Did that mean he wasn’t a bandit? It wasn’t exactly a ‘no’, and it didn’t line up with what the innkeeper had said. ‘I’m not a bandit’ is exactly the kind of thing she’d imagine a horrible, nasty, lying bandit would say - yet that wasn’t what he said. She was puzzled, clearly. He looked so.. Confident?

  
“Fact is..” He continued, taking her lack of response as a need for clarity. “I’m probably the only person in this room who’s thinking of doing something about them. I know their location, where they’re going, who leads them, hell - I know their names. Maybe once I was one of them, back when it was just petty thievery, taking a little others didn’t need, but all this killing and pillaging? I don’t want anything to do with that. Might be a thief, sure, but like you - I’m no cold blooded murderer.”

 

So he was one of them. Was. He admitted it himself, he’d robbed people of their hard earned money, and in the eyes of the law, he was just the same. Yet he seemed to disagree with that. He had to be brought to justice, that was clear, but so did the rest of them. He said he knew where they were based, and she didn’t. Now a heavy question weighed on her. Was it worth trusting a bad man for a good cause?

  


* * *

 

 

“I don’t want to go back there, it’s cold and lonely.” The young imperial grumbled, pouting and burying her head in the cushions, kicking her legs back in anger. “I’m not going back there! You can’t make me.”

 

“Oh come on, Soph. Skyrim isn’t that bad, besides the cold, that is..” Her father pulled back her carefully, sitting her upright. He smiled, messing with her hair slightly. “Anyway, we’re not sending you back unless we have to. We all want you to stay here - but we have to think about your safety first.”

 

Sophia jumped up from her seat at the opening of the door, greeting a familiar face from far away with a hug. Her mother took a step back, as her aunt returned the greeting, picking her off the ground and twirling her around in her strong arms, before putting her back down, gasping a little in exertion.

 

“Gods be good, how you’ve grown!” Jóra exclaimed with cheery air to her, young as she was she had always reminded Lyra of an old and warm heart, to the point where she wondered if she had been a jolly old hostess in a past life. Of course, she knew it was a strange facade, and had always struck her as over-the-top, to the point it lost all validity. She knelt down, nuzzling her niece. “I’ve missed your little face so much! Tell me, how do you live around all this boring politics!”

 

“Yes, well, it’s not like that’s not a thing in Solitude.” Lyra smiled, sitting down next to her husband, who was rather typically quiet and withdrawn around her sister. If only the world saw this side of him, she thought, maybe all the rumours would disappear. But she couldn’t blame him, they were all different people in her company. She loved her sister, of course she did, but she was so very different to them. Maybe she’d spent too long around Imperials, and Jóra was a pure nord. Strong, cheerful, unafraid - she would have been jealous, if she’d believed it at all.

“Ah, but Stendarr’s mercy permits me not to be Empress, or to have to worry of half the drama that goes on in the south. What is it the rumour mill has been spreading this time?” The woman let out a hearty sigh, rolling her eyes. “Imperials and their gossip, I’ll never understand why you let it get to you so much.”

 

“It doesn’t worry us.” Marcallus interrupted, rather firmly, but still passing off as civil. He never was one to speak much, indeed Sophia rarely spent any time with her father, but all the time she had, he was firm and distant. They were so concerned with themselves, even the young girl noticed, and she found herself feeling far more at home in the company of herself, and only herself.

 

Perhaps such a love of isolation was in her blood, or she’d spent too long in the tower’s pearled walls, and yet she was in a room full of strangers, soon to be sent to yet another house full of strangers. She’d been there before, of course, back even younger than she was then, chasing the gulls across the cold rocky shores. She remembered how only three years back, she was excited to see her father in the city of all cities. She had no friends in solitude, as ‘poncy’ imperials rarely did, but back in Cyrodiil she had. Sure, a dog and a few shadows counted little for most, but she had nothing else.

 

Like most children, Sophia zoned out often. People liked to remind her that one day the politics would be her problem, that one day she’d have to make ‘hard’ decisions. As the two sisters bickered to each other in contrast to their happy voices, she turned to her father once more, crossing her arms. “When I’m Empress, I’ll make you and mother keep her company in solitude.”

 

Laughing, he patted her head softly. “I bet. Luckily for us that won’t be too soon.”

 

“If it’s not my problem yet, why can’t I live like the other kids?” The child pouted. It seemed far too often that there were only downsides in her position, rules that made little to no sense. “Why can’t I go watch the arena, or play ball in the market?”

 

“I know it’s hard, Soph. But I’ve told you already - you’re special, and it’s not safe for you out there. A lot of those kids would give up everything to be you. You’re lucky, even if you don’t think it’s obvious.” His tone hushed slightly, trying to be sympathetic to her. Of course, when he was her age, he didn’t live like them either - even his less-noble heritage was strict, but not for the same reasons. He doubted his father was really concerned about his safety - probably more so the family ‘honour’. Even at the end, it seemed he looked at him the same way he did back then.

 

“Not safe? But I go out all the time and no one even notices! They aren’t evil, papa, they’ve never hurt me.” She looked rather triumphantly, but paused, having expected him to be more relieved.

 

“You.. Sophia, I’ve told you not to go outdoors. Who let you? I.. It doesn’t matter now. I forbid you to go outside these walls. When you’re older, you’ll understand, but until then, you can’t leave here.” He tried to sound calm, to get the point across but not scare her. As always, he typically failed at scolding her. Was he being harsh, or responsible? He sounded like the old man, but he knew he was saying it for the right reasons. He couldn’t expect her to understand, she was so.. Young.

 

“You forbid me?” Like all young children, she was temperamental as the wind, her voice rising enough to draw all attention, and she was at the end of her little one’s rope.  “You don’t tell anyone what to do, you let them all have their stupid ways but you always order me around! They’re right! You don’t have any kind of back bone! You’re stupid! You’re all stupid and lousy and I’m not going to listen to you anymore! I want to be a normal girl! I want to learn magic, and to duel and to explore! I hate this family! You’re all so selfish!”

 

* * *

  


Elfie eventually caved in - although she’d been hoping to be well-on her way, Holgir had insisted on passing by Riften. They’d need supplies, he said. A fair point, but she found it hard to control herself, her eagerness and need to find the truth only seemed to double by the day, pushing away all her sensibility.

 

Despite having arrived early in the afternoon, the sun was already setting, drizzling golden rays over the murky water the hold seemed to float on. Autumn leaves plotted down, red, yellow and orange, crisp and drifting amongst the echoes of voices. A few candles and lanterns lit the streets, and the breeze was soft, barely noticeable. Still, the elf gazed on in wonder, for everything felt so new to her.

 

“I’m going to go down to the docks, might find a few bargains. Why don’t you see if there’s anything you like here?” Her companion smiled, heading off into the darkness. Unlike him, she felt especially vulnerable in the open, her amber skin pulling eyes to her. She pulled her olive-green hood down slightly, the fabric snuggling close to her cheeks.

 

Her outfit was slightly tatty, but seeing the state of many citizens of Riften, she fitted right in. The dark, swampy green contrasted well against her golden skin, her black tattoos inking out and across the holes of the fabric. It drooped ever so slightly, but it was comfortable to walk in. Rather timidly, she wandered around the plaza, various norse trinkets lining market stools.

 

She gandered, her boots crushing against the dry leaves that had fallen, passing a forge, with various iron pieces on display, and a stall, with bright and shining jewelry hanging from the shelves. She paused, eventually, as something different caught her eye. A collection of stones and ceramics, hand painted but somewhat alien amongst everything else. She hovered over them, practically alone, for it seemed not many people dared come near.

 

She picked up one of the pebbles, feeling it between her fingers. It was cold, smooth, but it also radiated a strange warmth, and a roughness, although she couldn’t place it. It was decorated by a terracotta coloured thick disc of paint towards the front, providing a background to a darker and more inky emblem. It looked a bit like flames, but when she rotated it with care, she could make out a skull, maybe even arms.

 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” An elderly voice popped out from behind the counter, an old dunmer wrapped in bright orange fabrics, from head to toe, interrupted only by her golden jewelry and a small lock of white hair escaping from her head-wrap. “I’ll bet you don’t see craftsmanship like that in the isles.”

 

“I.. Yes, they’re.. Gorgeous.” A little off guard from conversation, Elfie’s speech was slow as she searched for words, drawing her eyes off the object she now held in her hand, to make eye-contact with the woman, carefully trying not to offend her in confusion. “What.. Sorry, I’ve not seen these before. What are they for?”

 

“No, not many people around here seem to know.” The woman smiled, evidently she was asked quite often. “Understandable, outlanders often don’t even seem to care about the work of my people. They are charms for good-luck, made to invoke the protection and guidance of our ancestors, dear. That, and they look very pretty.”

 

She chuckled under her breath, and Elfie forced a smile despite how out of place she felt. “Your people?”

 

“My tribe, Zainab. I haven’t always lived in this lawless land, but now? Now I live away from my home, to help make my home a better place. The ash fell hard on our ground, and yields little anymore. We’ve always been used to hardship, though, we make by, and every tide I make here brings a little more for them.”

 

Timid, Elfie held to herself once more, looking over the stone she held in her hand. “I’d like to buy one.. It feels like.. I don’t know how to word it. It feels like I know what it means, I just don’t know..”

 

“You know.” Once more, the old dunmer chuckled, kindness radiating from her like a warm fire. “Your heart is just not ready to tell you. But that’s okay.. We all find our place sooner or later, I don’t think it matters when.”

 

As Elfie removed the coins one by one from her pouch, the old woman disappeared under her stand for a second, rummaging, before standing up once more, although slightly hunched. She took both the coins and the stone from her palm, humming softly while tying up the stone with a leather cord.

 

“Ah, the sigil of Boethiah. You must have a fiery spirit to be drawn to it.” Passing it back, the old woman glanced at Elfie’s golden hand, at the striking small lines, at her tattoos that glazed up her arm. “Your skin isn’t like of us, but you wear ink like a Velothi. I am no wise woman, but your fortune clearly bodes you well. Should you ever find your place, do not forget of the old fortune teller back in Riften.”

 

With that, she smiled, and went around to the back of her stall. Boethiah? Another familiar yet distant name. She stood still, but felt as if trembling, for every person she spoke to spoke new words. She hung the necklace around her neck, letting it rest on her bosom, grounding herself with the strange heat.

 

* * *

 

 

“Then we’ll take them from behind. While the dogs try to burn down our door, we'll greet them with a spear in their fat behinds.” The dragon priest leant over the map, squinting behind his mask. The land was familiar, the immediate outside of the Barrow they inhibited. The paper charted the hills, the nearby stream, the rocky glade, but as his council liked to remind him, none of it offered defence from the very gods they worshipped.

 

There was no chance on the outside, the upper landing would be a death trap, and the lower door would only delay the inevitable. Eventually, the dragons would burn it down, after a lengthy siege and they would then flood the halls with footmen. There were no secret tunnels or escape routes, disobeying the order would mean certain death.

 

And the rumours had already spread. Qethin had already raised his voice enough. It was no longer clear if they would even accept a surrender. Like him, the dragons were arrogant, temperamental and stubborn. Unlike him, they were strong enough to make even the toughest nede tremble. Dragons, they say, are unkillible. The few rumours that one had ever been beaten were spoken in hushed tones, with fears of heresy.

 

“You should surrender, Julkinbok. Come tomorrow it will be only you holding the door back.” And the battle master was right, for many people had already deserted. Cowards, the rebel thought, how he'd love to spit on their corpses. This world was out of control, plotting his destruction. He could only imagine how much pleasure his colleagues were sharing, laughing at him. They had always laughed, viewed him as common scum. They were all the same.

 

It was all becoming clear now, the stupid dragons, they were weak, afraid. That was why they wished to castrate him. They had no real power, they shouted petal voices, they were children wearing masks. He was meant for more than this, better than this. He would usher in a new era, and they were afraid of that. The dragons couldn't take that he was simply better than them.

 

He laughed to himself, silently at first, but louder and louder. What a grand joke. An incredible prank. Tomorrow, when hell knocks on the door, then their jig would be up. He quickly lifted himself up, turning around to face his closest followers. His, not theirs.

 

“Fear not. They will come tomorrow, that much is true, but so shall a new dawn. For long they have been our masters, our betters, but they have misled us, and forgotten this land. Does Alduin himself ever grace us, does his mighty brother Parthurnaax come to our aid? No, for they know not our troubles. They think to send fools on their errands, and these fools mock us all. These.. These traitors grow jealous of us, and they will pay for their arrogance..” He rambled on and on, erratically, making less sense with each and every word. “They underestimate us. Come tomorrow, the traitors will be dead, and the powers that be will recognise our strength and commitment.”

 

With the sun setting, he found himself soon in an empty room, and out of ale. Though he was stubborn enough to deny all fear even to himself, he couldn’t help his hand from trembling as he drew about a new plan, a better one, without the interruption of anyone around him. For all he knew, they were spies, or worse. No, his plan was for few eyes. Surrender. What did they take him for? A coward? A milkdrinker? It would be a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

Continuing what had been a rather odd journey, Glahrza found herself chasing after a dog, its tan coat hiding it amongst the daisies, bounding across the grass at a pace, mixed with both playfulness and importance. The orsimer, in no mood to participate in any more games, and simply walked, looking back every now and again in anticipation. What was she thinking, leaving her with them? That was unthinkable, mad, yet she couldn’t go back and change her mind - as much as she wanted to do considering the whole ordeal.

 

After what felt like hours of hiking through greenery, to forest, they eventually reached a clearing, and a set of stone steps, which the dog finally slowed down for. The sky didn’t seem to have darkened as time passed by, instead still blaringly light, even under the cover of the trees. Though it all looked pretty similar, she could swear things were changing, moving, inch by inch. She supposed this should probably be normal in comparison to the affair that brought her here, but still, it was unnatural, and she didn’t like it.

 

“Finally. Do you have any idea how long you’ve been making me wait?” She was greeted by a high pitched, sarcastic sounding voice, sounding more common and less formal than she’d expect by something deemed as a ‘prince’. The dog jumped up to the figure’s side, on the recline of the rock, and sat down, panting loudly. Before she could decide between a serious or joking answer, the figure spoke again - she noticed he wasn’t even regarding her, but instead looking over his nails. “Well? Ugh. You orcs are so.. Stupid. I almost feel bad for having to deal with you. Almost.”

 

He gestured to small tree trunk close-by, and she assumed he wanted her to sit, so she did. She still had little idea of where they were, or who this is. Glahrza knew little of daedra, bar Malacath - but he was different, and she could tell this wasn’t him, and it wasn’t his realm. Malacath didn’t bother having anyone lead you to him - the father of orcs did things for himself. She went through them in her head, May Runes Dragon or something, he was the one who almost destroyed the arena - but people said his realm was a bright mess of lava and heat, something this realm wasn’t. One of her exes had talked about a Molag Bal guy a lot, in between whips and chains, but she figured that wasn’t her thing, or the deal here. Ayda could have at least given her a little more to go on. The silence was becoming increasingly awkward, as the figure tapped against the rock, impatiently. What did he want her to say, to do? She watched the dog wag its tail back and forth, pressing her to say something, so eventually, she did. “I.. I really don’t know what the deal is here, you should be talking with Ayda. I mean, Malacath’s back - I don’t even know where I am.”

 

“So, you..” The daedra paused, puzzled. This was not how it was meant to go, far from. It was, if anything, something new, and he wasn’t sure to be insulted, or amused. He sat up, more attentively, looking over her once more - which was to say, he’d seen her a few times, just as he saw everyone in the realm, but not between the lines, instead dismissively, but now, things had changed. And so, too, did Glahrza get a better view of her host. He was slightly taller than the other daedra she’d seen, with the same horns if not slightly bigger. He, too, had golden eyes, and his hair was a dark and voluminous set of curls, and Glahrza reckoned she could easily take him down if she needed to - he wasn’t anymore muscular than a child, and she didn’t see any weapons on him. “You don’t know where you are, or who I am, or what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

 

“Right.” The orc nodded. “So, if we’re done here, then I’ll go get back to my life.”

 

“Done here? No, we haven’t even started.” Glahrza tensed a little as he spoke, his tone laced with anger, but quickly calming once more, a smirk crossing his lips, intent showing through his eyes.

 

Then the dog spoke, and she was fairly sure she was either dreaming or going mad, its voice was squeaky, obnoxious, and she was glad it hadn’t been speaking before they got there. “What, you just go walking into strange portals for a living?”

 

“Well, yeah, I mean..” She started, before realising it wasn’t a question she needed to answer. “Look, just tell me how to get home and me and Ayda won’t be any more trouble.”

 

“That’s rude. To come all this way, into my house, and not even have the time for me? I’m hurt. You know, most people who visit me personally have enough sense to know my name, let alone to have a reason for being here. No, I don’t feel charitable enough to just.. Let you go. Especially if you’ve just come to waste my time. My time might be infinite, but it’s still precious, precious enough to not be wasted explaining things to stupid orcs.” He sighed dramatically, sitting back once more. “I really, I don’t know what to do with you mortals anymore. You’re far too easy game to be any fun, and you never do things right.”  


“Lord Clavicus Vile does not humour intruders, especially smelly ones.” The dog concluded, stretching up once more, which at least answered one of her questions - which allowed her to ignore the insult that followed. It was rather hypocritical to come from a dog, and she was pretty sure it was false. Still, she subtly sniffed herself when she felt neither was looking to make sure.

 

Clavicus Vile. She’d probably heard of him before, but hadn’t really put any thought into it. That being said, she was fairly sure there was a clue in the name, in the horns, and the general mood of his tone - it seemed, strangely enough, that he did not want to be trusted. She still wasn’t sure what to think of his companion, barely even remembering his name past any glance - Borat, or something. She doubted it really mattered right now, he clearly wasn’t the one in charge.

 

“I’m Glahrza.” The orc stated rather matter-of-a-fact, figuring that now was the time for introductions. In all honesty, Glahrza wasn’t good at any social situation - she preferred to let her actions do the talking, like many of her kind, although she figured her actions weren’t much here.

 

“I know who you are.” The prince too, spoke rather dryly. He was quite obviously unimpressed. The swishing of the dog’s tail slowed down, silence filling the glade, drawing her attention to the various shadows marked around her, the projections of the tall ash and birch trees, each leaf hovering a reflection on the ground, if she wasn’t being interrogated, she probably would be in more wonder at the world around her. “And I know what you’re doing here.. What I want to know is, why. Why, you, a mere mortal, who has apparently no idea of where you are, or who I am.. Why you, are standing here.”

 

He asked it as if it was a simple question to answer, but the truth was she still hadn’t processed it herself. The events that had lead her to this very place were a blur, a fever dream amongst a real one. Her girlfriend was the one who really knew the answer, but seemed to fail as much in explaining it as the orc did in understanding it. She understood that things were different between two women, that she probably wouldn’t find a home in her stronghold, and that Ayda’s parents were.. Less than accepting. She’d never met them herself, but over time she’d opened up more about her past, something still somewhat clouded, that there was a man after her. But she didn’t understand why they couldn’t just.. Live somewhere far away. Surely no one would go searching for them in Skyrim, or Vvardenfell? As she thought more and more about it, away from her, she still felt conflicted. What exactly was it that she wanted..?

 

“You should know not to keep a god waiting.” The Daedra spoke once more, rather impatiently, interrupting her chain of thought. “All this time, I’m spending thinking of what I should do with you. Yet you bore me, and..”

 

He paused, presumably for dramatic effect, his voice lowering somewhat, his amber eyes squinting.

 

“I hate being bored.”

 

“I, I mean, Ayda and I want to live here.” Glahrza blurted out, feeling a little more on the spot. As harmless as they looked, she figured a fight against a daedric prince, even with a dog, would hardly be a fair fight. The orc didn’t know anything about the realms beyond her, sciences and lore were hardly her weapon - instead, she most often opted for the more literal kind, but all things said, she knew when doing something would be stupid, unlike certain other people she knew. “Well, not here but.. Somewhere nice, where we won’t be disturbed.”

 

“Do I look like I waste my time homing unfortunate, lost little mortals?” He scowled, for that response truly was dreadfully boring. In fact, he couldn’t really think of a request more dull, more dreary and pathetic. Perhaps the pity of it all was.. A little enjoyable, but her desperation didn’t outweigh that of anyone else who bothered him. Of course, most of his ‘clients’ came knocking at his door, not bursting straight through it. Most, too, weren’t as thrilled with the environment, for as pretty as the fields of regret appeared, the name was no secret. Indeed, the place certainly wasn’t to most tastes, with the aroma of decaying flesh and the jarring brightness of the colours - it was not meant to be a holiday destination, or of any pleasantry to mortals, but a statement of irony. The idea of a man’s slow mind eventually picking up to it did have a slight charm, but content wasn’t his touch, more suited for Vile’s more intellectually feeble brethren. Like all things of little cost, it had little reward, either. Endless torment, sure, but it lacked the emotional depth, the struggle. No, no. It was all far too simplistic.

 

It was particularly clear to Glahrza now that this was a lost cause of a venture, one she hadn’t even signed up to in the first place. It was too, seeming clearer that there wasn’t going to be an easy or reasonable way out of this. On the bright side, she’d never tried fighting a Daedric Prince before. Her clan’s forgemother had always gone on about hidden talents, perhaps she would finally find hers.

 

After what was a pause of pondering for a being who had little regard for time, Vile spoke once more, eying the dog as if sharing an inside joke. “I suppose we could come to some sort of arrangement.”

 

Glahrza didn’t really like the sound of that, his tone, the strange look shared with the dog. Maybe daedra weren’t as evil as everyone proclaimed, she thought. Surely they wouldn’t be so overt about their sinister motives - that, or they were just not quite as subtle as they thought they were. “You’ll actually help us?”

 

“Of course. Why, I’d have to be heartless to refuse. Barbas and I aren’t strangers to young love, aren’t we? Lost souls come here often seeking a.. ‘Happy ending’, and we’re more than happy to oblige here, no matter how envious we are of such a strange mortal concept.” He smirked once more, something which appeared to be a trademark of his, and remarkably, somehow, Glahrza trusted him even less. “It does come with a small.. Price, however.”

 

Of course it did.

 

“Can’t go giving out things for free. Tried it once, bad for business.” Barbas barked, literally. The orc knew the realms of Oblivion were meant to be a strange and ungodly place, but she still couldn’t really get over the little creature’s gimmick.

 

She clenched her jaw slightly, as if pushing her tusks a little more into her upper lip - a common thing for orsimer, really, seeing as their tusks prevented them from biting their lower lip. Of course, many people mistake such behaviour as a sign of aggression, only fueling the fears others shared towards her kind -  however now you know better. But we’re getting off-topic here. Let’s just forget about the orc biology discourse and never find ourselves off on stupid tangents again, shall we? “What’s the cost?”

 

“A favour for a favour.”  Glahrza hated that term, because good people never said it. If good people needed something, they just came out with it. No, that phrase only ever came before a terrible demand. “There's a certain.. Problem in your realm that requires attention. But clearly, we're all far too busy to deal with it here. You, on the other hand, I'd bet to be far more fitting for the task..”

 

“You see, someone has stolen from me. You will reclaim what they took, and kill the fool.” He grinned somewhat nefariously, which was further more unsettling. It wasn't as if Glahrza had any qualms about killing, and hadn't already been there.

 

“What did they take?” The question seemed to irritate him. It seemed he wasn't very open to even the most needed of line of questioning. However, before his mutt could interrupt, he humoured her.

 

“It's hardly your concern. They took advantage of.. Another dealing with a mortal. They’ve decided they don’t want to pay their ends. But I, I'm not like the other foolish lords. I don't take kindly to broken deals. You'd best keep that in mind.” He returned to his sinister sulk, plucking a daisy aside and plucking each petal in the most cliche of ways. Everything he did seemed to be in someway a trope.

 

“You.. Want me to get back something that doesn't exist?” As mentioned many a time, Glahrza hadn't grown up near the flashing bolts of a mage's college, and she had little time for it, either.

 

“Don't be even more of a mortal fool than you are. When a soul dies, so returns any gift rented. I claim back what was mine, and they pay back their end. They have their fun, I have mine.”

 

“And your fun is just.. Watching people die?” It wasn't an unfamiliar concept. In all the years she knew her father, she was fairly sure that was his one pleasure in life. Indeed, for years she had wondered if perhaps all men were like that, that they were secretly animals beneath their skin, lusting for blood, killing for sport. She had yet to find definitive proof that this was not the case. “That seems pretty..”

 

“Don't even finish that thought. Such a typical shame that you cannot think above your own kind, or past your demise. How ignorant of you.” He pouted once more. “Like I said, and do try to listen this time, the emphasis being on them paying me back. In their gratitude, and surely in yours, all mortals who deal with me forfeit their souls. Souls are eternal, and after death, the tides of fate snatch them back to my realm. What happens after that is impossible for you to comprehend and hardly something you should worry yourself about in present.”

 

“Right.” It seemed with the daedra, there was either a habit to be entirely vague or to over explain, with no inbetween. However, he appeared to enjoy the sound of his own voice, and Glahrza figured, if anything, that his time spent talking was more time for her to get to grips with the mess of a plate she was being handed. “So who would I be killing?”

 

“A sorcerer. A fairly poor one, but a nuisance nonetheless. Couldn't even cure himself of his own ailment! Of course, corprus isn't very.. Cureable, but still. Suffice to say he didn't take his diagnosis very well, and he didn't much fancy his chances of survival. A disease long past your time, but I'm sure your history books still recount how horrific it was. By horrific, I mean amusing. It's incredibly amusing to watch a mortal sob as their body contorts and rots away.

 

But I digress. Daloren, the pathetic little altmer, begged for me to cure him of his disease. He couldn't stand the idea of dying a talentless hack. He wanted more, he had dreams, ambition. I took pity on him. He originally wanted immortality, but I thought that too rich. So instead I simply cured him of most the disease. The insanity, the degrading of his flesh, the things that could really kill him, I let him give away onto another. Then, as I was feeling generous, I gave him seven hundred years. Seven hundred years without having to even flinch at an incoming arrow, but only seven hundred. On the seven hundredth year since the deal, he would die a most painful death. Would.

 

But ever hopeful, the little bastard think's to outwit me. He's much more aware of the price than you are, and he's very afraid of death. So he thought to outwit the system, and now he is a vampire. Now he believes Molag Bal's curse will protect him from the inevitable. His desperation would be so adorable if it was not such a insult.

 

You will go to the shivering shoals, his little hideout in the coast of Summerset. You will remind him of his dues. And then you and your loved one can live happily ever after.”

  


“What if I say no? What if me and Ayda no longer wish to make a deal?” A last question, but a needed one. Glahrza had never signed up to deal with daedra, and hearing the demon go on and on, she was feeling even less inclined to now.

 

“You're hardly in any position to refuse.” He answered, the same frustrating smirk on his face as when she had first entered. “Unless you’d like to stay with the other ‘guests’. There is no escape from here. Surely you knew such a simple fact before your arrival? It is by pure kindness that I've even granted you an audience here. You'll do it, or you'll not. Either way, the Redguard will stay and work for us until my little problem is fixed.”

 

* * *

 

 

The threats of a stranger were nothing compared to the honesty of a child, in his case, his daughter’s. Children could see things in the simplest of ways, something adults often envy. So was the choice put upon Marcallus - to continue carrying out the will of another, and to lose the respect of those most important to him, or to try and make something of his position. In that way, the answer was clear. As his lowers continued to bicker amongst themselves, he reached for the papers handed to him by his high councillor, an altmer named Elsinne.

 

Elsinne was a young-looking high-elf, and in the public eyes, a charitable icon. Behind closed doors, she was aggressive in a most subtle fashion. She’d spent decades leading the Imperial Battlemages, despite her apparent links to the Aldmeri Dominion. In fact, her history with the Thalmor had played to her advantage - her appointment to her position was a supposed further act of union. In truth, she’d been here long before him, but only after his father’s conquest had she actually become relevant. She smiled at him, as if chuffed with herself, while he looked over the document.

 

He couldn’t really make much sense of her proposals, or more rather, why the daedra were so keen to pass them. It was usually small acts, tax rises, tax cuts, the occasional small and hardly noteworthy law, a tariff on goods from Elseweyr - the altmer had argued that many ‘delinquents’ were smuggling skooma through popular trade routes, or something along the lines. To tell the truth, he never really bothered listening, after all, there was no point. She could carry a void point for several hours, he’d still have to accept it.

 

A ban towards healers providing their services for free, apparently they were not ‘monitored’. More anti-daedra cult measures - an odd request from one speaking for a daedra. A sizeable increase in the money donated to the vigilants of Stendarr. Once more, an extremely odd request. But it wasn’t far off normal.

 

“Your Highness.” The elf interrupted him in thought.  She tapped her long nails on the table, each talon was impeccably shaped, symmetrical, perfect. Indeed, there wasn’t much of her that wasn’t proper, from her exact golden bun to her tailored robes. She was so proper, that it felt improper.

 

How he’d love to wipe that snide little smile from her face. He paused, meeting with her eyes, and then, much to the shock of the fellow councillors, and to the very protocol of the procedure, he ripped the papers in half before her.


End file.
